Darkest Dreams
by SmirkyRaven
Summary: Superman's childhood nightmare comes true and Lois is swept along with him. Rated for torture scenes and general angst, but doesn't have any bad language or...awkward situations.
1. Lois Lane's Luck

Title: Darkest Dreams

Author: SmirkyRaven

Rating: T. HOWEVER, please note that this fic is quite dark, and does have graphic violence at certain points. PLEASE heed the "angst" warnings at the beginnings of the chapters, especially chapters 3, 8, and 9. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED BEFOREHAND! As for everything else, you won't find any bad language or…"awkward" situations in this fic.

Other notes: Hello, all. I've been following the ff writing around here and around the 'net in general for some time, but I've never been brave enough to actually sit down and dedicate a fair portion of my life to working on my own. I know how long-winded I am and how prone I am to jump off cliffs at the slightest whiff of a good plot, and I've been (heaven forbid!) afraid of the commitment I know is necessary to actually stick with it until the end. Just this Monday evening past I decided to put aside all qualms and head into the fray quite blindly. So here I go.

Any encouragement, criticism, and any review as a whole (flames exluded, of course; they will be used to keep myself safe from the bitter bite of winter. Brr!) will be very good for both my self-esteem and creative juices. Thank you. I hope you enjoy it.

crosses fingers and jumps off the cliff after her plot

This story takes place shortly (very shortly) after The Green Glow of Home.

Oh, yes. This story is unbetaed, so besides the characters, names, etc…everything is mine. Especially the mistakes.

Warnings: I love deep, wrenching angst of both the physical and psychological facets. If you don't like it, don't read.

ADDITIONAL WARNING:

Thanks to a reviewer, I've been told it would be best if I were to add a little stronger warning. There is some graphic violence here, people. I try not to be crude, but if you are young, easily scared, and/or dislike that sort of thing, please do yourself the favor and preserve your innocence by being very careful in moving forward. That said, for those who like that sort of thing, I hope you enjoy.

There. That's three warnings and the fic hasn't even started yet. I hope I haven't scared you all away. :D

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Chapter 1: Lois Lane's Luck

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Lois had come to realize that there was something funny about her life. Now and again she would take a brief pause in the mad rush of the newsroom and life in general and look back at the experiences that had poured forward—like fate had decided to toss a steaming mass of overcooked spaghetti into the too-small strainer of her life. Well, it was a good image, she thought (she had ample experience with both over and undercooked spaghetti) but maybe not so useful in what she was trying to say.

It seemed to her that she could look back at her more recent near-death experiences and realize how lucky she really was. Had the smallest thing gone wrong—even the change of events by a single second—she would have been dead who knows how many times over. So she was quite glad that everything did indeed fit into their places so everything turned out quite well. She may not always admit it, but at least alone at home after the break of yet another news-shattering article after yet another life-threatening occasion she could rightfully believe that fate was her friend.

But she didn't realize how quickly that friend could turn her dreams into a nightmare.

The day started off quite normal, for Lois Lane. She and Clark had just got back from Smallville, and now she was perched over Perry White's desk like an indignant hawk.

"What do you mean, you still want that space-filling article about the average growth rate of cows and the pagan rites of mid-American corn-worshipping?" she demanded. "We went to Smallville and came back with a front page story about a crazy government operation gone wild. What more do you want?"

Perry leaned back in his seat to look at her. "Well, what I sent you two for, of course. Look, honey, that article's nice and all, but the whole reason I sent you to Smallville in the first place was for this, not for you to get shot at and almost killed by some fanatic from the government. I want that article on my desk by noon."

Lois opened her mouth for a retort, but Clark beat her to it.

"Right chief. We'll get right on it." He put a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the door despite her protests. He closed the door behind them and spoke in a calm tone that drove Lois mad.

"It's not unreasonable, Lois," he ventured bravely. "After all, that was the whole reason we went to Smallville in the first place."

"Fine, Farmboy," she retorted. "We're partners, right? Well, then you can write it. You're more experienced in this field, anyway." She stopped, grimacing at the unintentional pun, and then turned on her heel, pausing only to pick up her purse from her desktop. "I'll fix all the mistakes you make when I get back."

"Where are you going?" Clark asked, immediately suspicious. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lois—okay, maybe sometimes he didn't, but that was besides the point—it was just that Lois was one of those gifted people that could be crossing a street, get knocked from behind by a random-passing android-disguised as a human woman, fall down and lose her memory only to be brought to a doctor that was trying to brain-wash their patients as assassins. Clark shook his head. Okay, so that was a little far-fetched, but the idea was there.

"Taxes," Lois bristled. "Idiot government sent me a letter saying I had to meet with some representative to get something cleared up. I tried to call them, but they're all full of complicated terms and long-winded explanations that I swear they make up to intentionally confuse us." She pulled a wrinkled letter out of her pocket and brandished it. "I'm tracking them down. One I get this figured out I'm writing a series in incompetence of government officials. I'll have another front page article ready to fly." She turned sharply towards the elevator. "We'll see how Perry likes that."

Clark winced in sympathy for whatever poor fool was set to meet the wrath of Lois Lane. Whoever it was didn't stand a chance.

The elevator doors opened and Lois stepped inside, turning only at the last moment to catch Clark's eyes again. "Have that done when I get back, Kent." The doors closed behind her.

Clark didn't move for a moment, standing beside his desk as he stared after the tornado most knew as Lois Lane. He shook his head with a smile and sat down at his desk, turning to his computer as he pulled up a word document. He had written only a couple paragraphs before a cry for help caught his attention. He didn't even take the time to close it before he was out of his seat and heading towards the door, loosening his tie as he went.

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Lois was still muttering to herself as she pulled up to the curb to park next to the old warehouse that matched the address on her envelope. She stepped out of her car and frowned at the offending building, taking in the colorless grey walls before her. It was clear that the building had had perhaps a more practical use in its day, but now it was looking a bit rundown and dusty. It was fitting, she decided as she left her car and walked in the front door.

The reception area was disappointingly well-furnished: comfortable, business-like, and character-less like countless other government buildings. The lighting was stuck between a commentless too-bright and boringly dull, the wall a bland off-white, and above the practical couch for waiting there hung a typical picture of some random farm—probably in Kansas, Lois thought to herself, annoyed.

The receptionist was a pale, thin woman with pinched lips and wiry hair pulled back so tight that Lois wondered that it didn't pop right out of its bun and the seemingly tame hair would change into dangerous projectiles to innocent passerbys. Lois was sure it would qualify as a working hazard.

"Excuse me, Miss Glutwich," Lois said, noting the desk plaque bearing the bold letters "Francine Glutwich." What a perfectly awful name. "I'm here to meet with a," she checked the letter, "Mr. Logram."

"Name?" the woman drawled, not even looking up from a thick stack of papers that practically could have been written in another language if not for the rare "and"s and "the"s.

" Lois Lane."

"Sit down. It will be a few minutes."

Lois purposefully did not move to the couch to follow Francine Glutwich's brisk instructions, but stood there at the desk, hoping for some sort of annoyed reaction from the foul-looking woman. Disappointingly, however, Miss Glutwich didn't even glance at her again. The minutes ticked by, and Lois's heels began to ache from standing still. She knew she shouldn't have worn her heels today. Too prideful to sit down now even considering the wait, she let her eyes drift to the small muted TV in the upper corner of the room, where a bored-looking anchorman was pointing out the fair weather that was due for the next day, week, month, and maybe even the next month after that.

The weatherman stared dully out of the screen. Lois looked back, tapping her foot and realizing that this nice little reception area was in fact missing a vital staple—the vapid and pointless magazines that cluttered most other such waiting areas. Normally she didn't consider them worth anything but fire kindling on a cold winter night, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

She was saved as the weatherman was pushed aside for live footage of a mudslide in Peru, where Superman had just reached the scene and soon the camera was struggling to find him as he darted in and out of the mud-covered slope, hardly a blur on the camera. She allowed a small smile. At least the government had some idea of good television. She watched for a minute before looking back at Glutwich, her smile vanishing behind a glare. To think that the sour woman probably spent her free hours here staring at Superman's rescues whenever they came up on the screen. She probably lived just to see those short glimpses on the TV, but was smart enough not to show it in front of her. Lois's blood turned bitter. How dare the woman! She was old enough to be his grandmother.

A red light flashed on the desk and Miss Glutwich paused over her papers long enough to point down the hall to the right. "Room 42," she said. "He's waiting for you." She immediately dismissed Lois and went back to her papers.

Lois stared at her for a moment, a scathing retort on the tip of her tongue, but 'Francine Glutwich' didn't even glance at her again. With yet another grumble to herself Lois turned sharply down the hall, checking the room numbers as she went.

She found the room only a few doors down the hall. She stopped before the door that bore a proud plaque with a large 42, and beneath it in a more civilized font, "Dr. Philip Logram."

"Brilliant," Lois muttered. "Now they have doctors running the tax bureau. No wonder they have problems." She opened the door and stepped inside.

Dr. Logram was seated at his desk, speaking on the phone. He looked up as Lois entered and gestured towards the seat before his desk. Lois bit down on her tongue and sat down, glaring at him in hope that he might realize her impatience. It was in vain, again—the man was spouting legal euphemisms and seemed quite oblivious to her. Lois shifted, looking up into the corner of the room where yet another TV was situated. She smiled as she saw Superman there yet again. She watched him as he worked furiously, and after about fifteen minutes longer he finished. His hair was slightly mused from its usual slick style and his skin and suit were thick with dirt and mud, but he was pleased in that formal way of his. It was a miracle, but no one had died, thanks to Superman's quick work.

He waved at the camera briefly with that dazzling smile of his before disappearing into the sky above the cheers and thanks of the people, and the camera returned to the studio.

Lois was annoyed at herself to have lost track of time watching the superhero work, and the annoyance turned external as she turned to glare more furiously at the man before her. He caught her eye, gave a small smile and held up a finger. She shifted, gripping her purse in her hands and already imagining the headline of her next article: "Superman Saves Government Goons from Rabid Reporter." And the first line: "Superman's hero status has been put into question after saving a number of government representatives for taxes from a rampant Lois Lane…." She allowed herself a tight smile.

Dr. Logram finally closed his phone call and set it on his base behind him. Before he even had a chance to put a word in, Lois jumped down his throat.

"Dr. Logram, I'm Lois Lane and I received this letter stating that I had some complicated-and-very-difficult-to-describe-and-understand error in my taxes last quarter. I have waited an hour and a half. I hope this will be quick."

The doctor smiled. He was an older man—with shocking white hair, though his face was less lined than she would have expected considering. He looked friendly enough—like a kindly grandfather—and Lois braced herself. She never did trust those with the good looks. They usually turned out to be the poisonous ones.

"Ah. Miss Lane," he said. He opened his desk drawer beside him and bent over to file through it. "Thanks you so very much for waiting. I think I have your files right here. Ah, yes."

He straightened, and Lois went very, very still as she found herself blinking down the barrel of a gun.

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WHOO! FIRST CHAPTER OF MY FIRST FIC EVER POSTED! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW:D


	2. Not So Nice

Hello, all. Hope the next chapter keeps up to expectations...

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Chapter 2: Not So Nice

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He was on the other side of the desk. Lois was sitting down. There was no way for her to try to run, kick, bite, or otherwise wrestle the gun from the grandfatherly man. So she didn't move.

"Ah, good. I see you're not going to try anything rash. That's very good. I've heard you were one of those act first, think later type of people. I'm glad you've put a curb on that, for the moment, at least." He pushed a black button on his desk with his free hand.

"What do you want?" Lois demanded, utterly annoyed at this point. It was bad enough that the chief wanted that dull story written up despite her protests, and that she had to wait for a full hour in a soulless lobby to talk about taxes, of all things, but this was the last straw.

The man stood up, keeping the gun trained on her. "Ah, but what would we want with Lois Lane, star reporter of the Daily Planet. Which one of your enemies could have dragged me into some petty plot for revenge this time?"

Lois didn't reply, if only because it was a stupid and utterly inane question. Like she kept a list of everyone who might be after her for revenge. Goodness! She just watched him as he came around the desk, removing himself from its protection. He took one more slow step in her direction, bringing himself closer and Lois struck. She kicked the gun from his grip and recovered her balance to dive after it even as he grabbed at her ankles and sent her sprawling on the hard tile floor.

"HELP SUPERMAN!" Lois screamed as the door burst open and two black-garbed men ran in. "SUPERMAN, HELP!" Her hands closed around the gun and she rolled over, only to find that the two newcomers had two much larger guns leveled right at her. She froze again.

Dr. Logram stood slowly, a smile on his face that made Lois's stomach clench. He didn't even look at her as he stepped past the two guards. "Ah, perfect. Bring her along, gentlemen."

They started forward, grabbing her arms. Lois struggled, and in the act managed to bring the gun up and pulled the trigger at point-blank range into one of the guard's faces. She tensed, expecting the deafening blast and scream, but only for a moment, for the gun didn't go off. She swore and let it fall from her fingers—it had been unloaded all along. "SUPERMAN! SUPERMAN! HELP!" she shouted, trying to pull away. One of the guards put a large hand over her mouth, but Dr. Logram shook his head.

"Let her call for all the help she wants," he said. "For all the good it will do."

The guard nodded and dropped his hand. Lois resisted the urge to swear again. They must have soundproof walls, curse it.

"Who are you?" Lois demanded as they lifted her from the ground and began dragging her down the hall. "What do you want with me? Who do you work for?"

Dr. Logram glanced back at her as he pulled a card from his pocket and slipped it into a door for access. He pushed open the door and ushered them in. "Always the reporter, aren't you, Miss Lane?" Lois was pushed non-too-gently into the room. It was larger than the office—or maybe it just seemed that way, as it was completely bare. The walls were a cold cement, as was both the ceiling and the floor. There were no windows, no furniture, nothing. The guard pushed her into in the far corner, keeping the gun trained on her the whole while.

"Well, let me answer your questions, while you wait," Logram said. "My name is Dr. Logram. I work for the government. And you, my dear, are nothing but bait for a much bigger fish we wish to catch." The second guard made to close the door and the doctor stopped him. "Leave it open," he said, his eyes gleaming like a hungry predator on the trail of his prey. "We're expecting company."

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Clark took his leave of Peru and turned to the Pacific for a quick wash from all the grime from his work. He headed back to Metropolis in good spirits. With the luck he was having today he might even beat Lois back, and with some discrete super-speed might even have that article typed up before she returned. With a fresh burst of speed he cut down as a blur into the alleyway next to The Daily Planet. Half-way through his first spin back into his normal clothes, however, he froze, hearing a too-familiar cry for help from a voice that made his blood chill.

"Lois," he murmured, and in a millisecond was back into the suit and in the sky, heading hard towards the cry he had heard. In a moment he was over Hobb's Bay, hovering uncertainly. He heard the scream again and shot down, following her cries.

He narrowed in on an old warehouse, and after a bare second he realized it must be lead-lined. He didn't wait—Lois had gone frighteningly silent, and with a deep preparatory breath he plunged downwards.

The front door shattered under his speedy entrance, and he was down a long narrow hall even as a particularly mean looking secretary was lifting her head from her papers, her tight mouth opening in a surprised "O." He saw Lois—sitting frozen to his quickened perspective under the careful eye of a gunman. A bruise was swelling on her cheek. Clark's blood turned hot and he rushed forward, his mind already grabbing the guns and squashing them into unrecognizable balls of metal.

He darted into the room, but as soon as he shot through the doorway he realized something was wrong. Pain shot through him and he was jerked by a painful hook into normal speed, but his forward momentum was too much to stop and he slammed bodily into the back wall. He cried out as something in his arm snapped from the impact and he fell back. He lay there in shock for a moment before the pain crashed down on him like a hot wave and he cried out, trying to pull away from it all.

Lois barely had time to recognize the blue blur before it smashed into the wall, leaving a good crack in the thick cement. Superman seemed to practically appear on the floor, gasping in pain and clutching his arm as he writhed as if some internal pain was racking him.

"Superman!" Lois cried. She crawled to his side quickly, heedless of the gun following her. She put a hand on his arm and he groaned in pain.

"Lois…"

Lois turned sharply to Dr. Logram. "What are you doing to him?" Her voice was too near a shriek for her liking, but that was not to be helped.

Dr. Logram was watching with detached interest. "So it does work. And very well, indeed. Ah. Very good."

Lois's grip on Superman's twitching shoulder tightened. "Kryptonite," she whispered, realizing that crazy as Trask had been, he had been terribly right about at least one thing.

The doctor pulled out a glowing green stone from his pocket and stepped forward. Superman cringed and tried pitifully to drag himself farther away with just one good arm, but he bumped into the wall and was forced to a stop. He gritted his teeth and managed to lift his eyes to the doctors.

"Who—are you? What—what do you w-want with me?" Clark tried to call forth Superman's strong tone, but between the pain and his body's trembling reaction to the burning radiation, the attempt was weak at best.

"Ah. Straight to the point, then, hm?" Logram gestured and a guard stepped forward and pulled Lois back, keeping her in a firm grip in case she tried anything foolish. Logram stepped forward and crouched down, bringing the green stone close to Superman's pale and sweat-covered face. Superman shuddered and his head lulled as a low groan escaped his throat. His breath hitched as his muscles tightened too much to draw in air.

"Stop it!" Lois said harshly.

Logram stepped back again. Superman's breathing eased slightly but he didn't move, his eyes glazed with pain.

"You may go now, Miss Lane," Logram said, placing the rock back into his coat pocket. "You are no longer needed."

The guard made to drag her away, but Lois protested. "What? No! Where are you taking me?"

"I told you that you were meant only as bait," Logram said, waving his hand and not looking away from where Superman lay shivering on the floor. "I have what I want. You may go."

"I'll call the police," Lois said. "Cliché as it is, you aren't going to get away with this!"

"You do that," Logram nodded. "They won't find us, and if they do they won't do anything about it. We work for the government, Miss Lane. We have planned this for months—ever since the alien first showed his flashy colors to America and the rest of the world. You'll never find us, Miss Lane. So please…go. You are quite human and the power the alien has put over you is not your fault. It will fade, in time."

"You're with Bureau 39," Lois realized with growing horror. She looked at Superman. A trickle of blood had trickled from his hairline and was falling across his pale brow, mixing with agonized sweat. Lois felt like she was drowning in his eyes, which were dark and dilated with pain. He looked at her with something akin to relief beneath the fear and pain—relief that she, at least, would go free. "What do you want with him?"

Dr. Logram shrugged. "He's an alien. We've neutralized him, and if we are to believe his orphaned story then he is still quite valuable. Just think about it. A creature with an invulnerable immune system. An alien from another planet. Who knows what chemicals and bonds make up its being! What sort of medical miracles might we find?" He rubbed his hands together, his eyes glittering at the prospects.

Superman uttered a desperate oath that sounded almost like a prayer. He had lifted his head enough to look at her, and his expression was one of pain mixed with thinly veiled terror. It was shocking to see in the eyes of her hero.

Lois shivered. She couldn't just leave. Even if these men really did let her go, it would be next to impossible to track them down, even with the best of her reporter's instincts and luck. She hesitated, then made her choice. She could not simply walk out and leave him, bleeding and broken. She couldn't leave him. She pulled against the firm hand on her shoulder. "No. I'm not leaving him." They would have a better chance together, if Logram meant to let her go at all or just...have her done away with.

Superman shuddered at her words and shook his head. "Lo-is…no. Get out of here"

"I'm not leaving him," Lois emphasized over his words. "I don't care where you take him—I'm going too."

Logram finally turned to look at her. He chuckled and shook his head. "You can't save him, Miss Lane. The studies are going to go forward. It's best if you go and forget about him."

"No," Lois said coldly. "I don't care what you do. I'm staying with him."

"Lois, no. Please…go…"

"The alien seems to wish otherwise," Logram said.

"I don't care," she said, though her voice quivered slightly. "You're a monster, and I'm not leaving him alone with you."

Logram looked at her closely for a moment, then shrugged. "He may cooperate better with a companion," he said, as if talking to an owner about a pet dog. "If you want, we'll let you stay with him until he dies. Then we'll let you go. We aren't afraid of what you might write for that paper of yours—you can't print what you can't prove, and we are more invisible than wraiths. Of course, we won't compensate you for your lost time, but then again, this is your choice."

Lois turned to look at him and went still as she saw his cool, professional expression. Superman's breath was hitching again as he struggled for air, but this man before him simply glanced at him with unconcealed interest.

"Lo-is…don't…"

"I'm staying with him," she said again, the words final. Logram nodded and gestured to the guard to let her go. Lois immediately ran forward to Superman's side and knelt down before him, tears rising in her eyes as she lifted his head gently onto her lap.

"Lois…no…Lo-is…leave me. I don't…care…just…leave…please. Lo-is…" Clark was desperate. Fear only added to his helplessness, but he knew whatever was to happen to him, he wanted Lois to be safe.

"Sh," Lois said gently, brushing his hair from where it had fallen from its usual slicked-back style. It was longer than it looked, and softer. "Sh. It'll be all right."

Superman shut his eyes, gritting his teeth as a pain deeper than that which racked his body shook his core. The prolonged contact of the Kryptonite was beginning to become too much—he didn't know how long they had stood there talking, whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours. It had seemed like hours. His last thought was that he was not only to fall fate to his worst fear, but Lois was here beside him in this nightmare, and there was nothing he could do to protect her.

"Lo-is," he whispered, and fell into blissful nothingness.

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TBC...

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Angst: In this Case, an Understatement

MAJOR ANGSTY WHAMMER WARNING

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ;)

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Chapter 3: Angst:a feeling of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity. In this case, an understatement.

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Lois swore in desperation as Superman went completely limp. She searched frantically for a pulse, and panic rose in her heart as she found nothing at his throat.

"He's dead," she whispered. She looked up at Logram, shaking. "You…you k-killed him!"

Logram pulled the Kryptonite from his pocket, followed by a small, thick-fabricked sack that looked heavier than its size. He stuck the Kryptonite inside and pulled the drawstring tight before sticking it back in his pocket. Immediately Lois felt the rise of Superman's chest under her hand and she clutched his good hand painfully tight, her throat tight.

"You keep forgetting that your 'super man' is not human at all, Miss Lane. It is thus quite likely that he would not have the strong pulse at the same places in the body, if he has a pulse at all. Goodness, we don't even know if he has a heart like we do."

Lois didn't look at him; just cradled Superman's head gently against her, feeling sick.

"Very well," Logram said. "Hansen, Gordon, let's go."

The guards stepped forward, taking Superman by the shoulders and beginning to drag him forward. The superhero groaned softly even in unconsciousness as his broken arm was jarred.

"Be careful!" Lois snapped, and was proud that she had recovered enough to sound as furious as she did. The dark-clothed men actually winced slightly at the fire in her tone. "He's hurt, if you haven't noticed."

"He'll live," Dr. Logram said calmly, but not reassuringly in the least. "Come along, Miss Lane. Unless you've changed your mind?"

Lois straightened and gave him her coldest glare, showing him just how set her mind was. She followed them as they dragged Superman out of the room. There were two more guards standing outside, their guns held at ready, and Lois had to stifle a curse as she realized that even if she did manage to grab one of their guns, there was no way she was getting Superman out of there on her own—especially considering the trouble that the two big men were having trying to drag him together. She clenched her jaw against growing desperation and helplessness and followed the somber progression farther down the hall.

They were put into the back of a windowless van. Superman was pushed in unceremoniously, and Lois clambered in to sit with him. Logram moved to the front of the truck, but the guards sat across from them, their cold and beady eyes unwavering and their guns ready as they watched. Lois did her best to ignore them, concentrating instead on Superman. She tried to pull him into a more comfortable position, and when she sat down beside him she pulled his head onto her lap. She followed the trail of blood down his face to where he had struck the wall and winced at the darkening bruise and ugly gash hidden by his thick hair. It was still oozing blood, and his hair was plastered on the side of his head with it.

"I don't suppose you have a spare handkerchief?" Lois asked their silent watchers dryly. The men just stared back at her. Lois rolled her eyes and turned back to the injured man beside her. She carefully brushed his hair from his brow again—something bothered her about how it kept falling over his forehead.

She was surprised when after a moment one of the guards actually shifted and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket before tossing it to her. She picked it up, insured that it was clean, and then carefully wiped the drying blood from Superman's face before gently holding it over the head wound.

The trip seemed to go on forever. Superman shifted more than once as if about to wake, but a word to the front cab and the bag containing the kryptonite was passed back. The guards pulled it out of the sack for a couple minutes until Superman grew ghost-pale and still again, and then placed it back inside. Every time they pulled out the glowing stone the bump on his head began to bleed again, and after some hours the handkerchief was near black from dry and drying blood.

"Stop it," she said when they reached for the bag yet another time. "He's not going to wake up—he probably has a concussion, and whatever that _rock_ does to him, it's not helping. Why are you trying to hurt him?"

One of the guards shrugged. "We weren't going to hurt him—just use the rock to keep him out. He's the one that ran into the wall like that."

"Guess the Super-brakes broke," another one said with the hint of a smile around his too-bold chin. "Funny. I don't think we ever thought that he might actually crash like that. Bang!" he slapped his hands together in imitation, allowing one hand to bounce back with a 'splatting' sound.

Lois found nothing funny in it at all, of course. She didn't try to talk to them again, and they seemed quite content with silence themselves.

Hours passed. Lois dozed fitfully, waking whenever the truck hit the slightest bump or whenever Superman shifted even slightly. At last she woke up as the truck was pulling to a stop. She wondered where in the world they had gotten to, and how they were going to get out of this mess.

The back doors opened, and Lois was dismayed to see yet more uniformed men waiting. Whoever was in charge of this clearly had a good many strings to pull from his little web. They pulled Superman away from her despite her protests, but at least they lifted him onto a wheeled metal table-bed instead of dragging him along the ground like before. The guards nudged her along at gunpoint needlessly; there was no way they were going to get her to move from his side without a fight.

It was dark—night already. The dim glow of Lois's watch said it was past ten—they had been driving for over nine hours. Lois could hardly see anything but for the dimly lighted complex that looked like some sort of old bomb shelter. Around them everything was flat and shadowed, and the air felt as open as a plain.

_Not Kansas, again,_ an exhausted thought slipped from Lois's mind as she trudged into the building after Dr. Logram swiped his card to open the door. She swore that when she saw Clark again she was going to tell him to write that article completely by himself. She wasn't getting close enough to touch anything to do with Kansas with a ten-foot pole for the next ten years of her life.

They stepped into a bare, cold cement tunnel and soon Lois was swept up in the confusion as three white-coated doctors came over and to lead them forward. Dr. Logram began talking to the other doctors, but Lois couldn't hear what they were saying over the noise as the metal wheels clanging emptily down the cold hall and the echoing rumble of their footsteps. She caught Superman's hand in hers as she quickened her step to keep up with the brisk pace. His hand was cold and clammy, but she was surprised to receive a brief squeeze to her fingers in response to her touch. She looked down at the man on the bed, but he appeared quite asleep, but for a slightest twitch beneath his eyelids, and a faint trembling of his fingers inside of hers. Lois tightened her grip on his, glad that she wasn't alone in this any longer.

It didn't last, however. They swept into a room and Lois was pushed into the corner of the room as the doctors rushed around the apparently unconscious Superman despite her protests. Large monitors and machines sat waiting around the walls, and within minutes they had Superman's heartbeat beating away a quick but steady rhythm on one of he monitors. Brainwaves danced beneath that, and one of the doctors stared at them as he scribbled notes on the clipboard he balanced in his hands.

"Amazing," he murmured. "It's incredible."

On the table, Clark was barely keeping himself from breaking down in terror. The bright lights of the examination table burned his eyes even through his eyelids. His head throbbed, and never had he felt so exposed…so violated. His broken arm ached enough to make him grit his teeth against an involuntary moan that threatened to break from his sore lungs. He felt bruised all over, besides the shooting pain from his skull and forearm, and wondered distantly what they had done to him while he was unconscious; if they told him they had used him as a piñata for a group of wild banditos he wouldn't have doubted their word. He felt as if he were waking from death itself; even thought seemed to come sluggishly, and the thought of rising from his reclined position was as impossible an idea as flying…well, for a normal man. In this condition, there was nothing that he could do against the men, though he didn't know how many there were. And Lois…Lois was there somewhere…

He explained to himself that he was waiting—saving his energy and waiting for the right opportunity to strike, but he knew that was a coward's lie. He was terrified, and he wanted to keep his eyes closed as long as he could. As long as he kept his eyes closed this could all just be a bad, albeit frighteningly realistic, dream.

He felt fingers prodding along his good arm, and a sharp sting made him flinch despite himself as Logram drew a large vial of his blood from his arm. The act becoming too much to keep up, his body began to tremor. This didn't escape Logram's attention. He carefully set the vial on a tray and stepped back, reaching for his pocket.

"Ah. Gentlemen, he's awake," he said calmly. The flurry of writing, muttered conversation, and movement as a whole went still, all save for the solitary beeping that marked the quickened beating of Superman's heart.

There was no use, now, trying to keep up the façade, but still Superman hesitated a moment longer, savoring the last few seconds of hope, weak as it was. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting painfully through the blinding light to the darker shapes beyond, and all of those hopes were shattered.

Nightmares of his childhood and the endless warnings of his father stood around him like grey wraiths. He fought down the panic that threatened to clutch him and tried to sit up—he was not restrained, so he managed to rise a few inches. His broken arm protested like a fiery brand and he gasped at the strength of it. He clutched his arm, before his battered body shuddered and he collapsed back, hitting his head hard on the cold metal beneath him. He clenched his teeth around a groan, but even his teeth seemed to ache, like the coursing pain of the kryptonite, only softer—like an echo.

Lois had been standing in the corner, her heels aching from the long day as she cursed whatever urge had compelled her into wearing heels yet again. She had slid down the wall to sit uncomfortably after the first long minutes (at least she was wearing pants rather than her usually-preferred skirt), hugging herself and feeling ill as she saw the doctors move over Superman like ants over a crumb of bread. Now she saw the struggle in Superman's expression, and the tirade she had been holding back for fear of being taken away from him broke forth like water through a weakened dam.

"What is the matter with you all?" Lois demanded, leaping to her feet. "Have you no respect for human rights or dignity? This is cruel and unusual—you're violating humanity here, and it's not like you can convince yourself that he's a danger. Trask was mad to think so."

"Yes, Trask was mad," Logram said, allowing her to interrupt his work and not looking very patient about it. "Ah, but think, Miss Lane. We have perhaps the last Kryptonian in the _universe_, and surely the first alien that has walked—or flown, rather—into our midst. He is not a citizen. He is not a human. As far as you should be concerned, he's the frog you dissected in your fourth grade elementary school class, but infinitely more valuable to our cause. You didn't argue for civil rights then, did you? Ah. Chances are that you probably didn't even use the opportunity to expand your knowledge, but just cut it up without even thinking about it." The doctor straightened. "I am not going to let him go and disappear somewhere. This is too important, and if I eliminate a possible threat at the same time, who's to complain?"

Lois opened her mouth to retort angrily at that. "Why you—" Logram held up his hand, cutting off the very foul insult that had been forthcoming.

"Take her out. Give her something to eat and let her take care of herself and stick her away until we're finished. Oh. And take someone else with you. I've heard stories of Miss Lane, and we don't want her causing any trouble, hm?"

The guard straightened and gestured for her to stand, looking somewhat relieved himself. He had been growing bored of standing here to watch the little lady as she sat there, her eyes only for Superman.

Lois braced herself, looking at Superman. He had closed his eyes again and now clutched his broken arm to himself as if to protect it as best he could. He looked awful. As marvelous as food and especially a bathroom break sounded after these past long hours, she was not going to go easily. "I'm not leaving him," she stated, and wondered if she sounded as much like a broken record as she felt.

Logram swore and threw his pen at her. He missed and it bounced off the wall harmlessly. "Will you just go? We'll give you back your little pet once we're finished."

The guard grabbed her arm and began dragging her back. Frustrated and driven to the edge by the events of the day, Lois twisted sharply, elbowing the man in the gut and driving a forceful punch to his jaw. She laid him flat with carefully-placed kick that left him writhing on the floor, and dove to grab his gun and level it at the doctors, who had frozen once again.

"All right!" Lois pressed off the safety, letting them know she meant business. "With the day I've had, I'm not going to hesitate to pull this trigger if you make even the slightest false move. And I'd bet this one is loaded."

"Lois?" Superman asked, feebly lifting his head again.

"Can you stand, Superman?" Lois asked, her eyes not leaving the doctors.

Clark didn't answer at first. "Maybe. I…don't know," he said, his voice pained as much by the admittance as anything else. He took a shaking breath and strained upward, managing to sit up shakily, though the world tipped around him like a broken top.

Lois bit her lip. "Get back, all of you," she said, gesturing sharply at the other men. Three of them stepped back, carefully setting down whatever they were working on and looking quite pale. Logram, however, looked calm. He was closest to Superman, and before Lois had a chance to move he lunged towards him. Lois swung the gun towards him, but fear of hitting Superman made her shot go wide. The bullet shattered into a monitor behind him…relatively harmlessly. Sparks and smoke shot from the machine angrily.

Superman saw Logram coming; despite his unsteady view of the world and his blurry vision he had been watching his tormentors as warily as he could. He cringed at the loud shot of the bullet, and before he could react Logram had caught his broken forearm and wrenched it cruelly. There was a loud pop and Superman screamed in renewed agony as his world disappeared behind nothing but white, blinding pain. Logram pulled down onto the table and kept low, keeping close to Superman as he pulled out a scalpel and held it before him. Clark was shaking uncontrollably now—his teeth chattering around a whimper he couldn't hold back.

"Going to risk another shot, Miss Lane?" Logram asked, breathing hard as he looked up at her. "Are you going to risk shooting your alien boyfriend here, or are you going to be a good girl and put the gun down?"

Lois hesitated, and Superman didn't have the chance to think before Logram twisted his broken arm grotesquely. His scream rose to a desperate pitch.

"Stop that!" Lois said tightly, hoping her voice would sound more like a command than a plea. She felt bile in her throat.

"Drop the gun." Logram said again. He brought the scalpel up and calmly, almost systematically. Superman felt the first prick of the blade and tried to pull away, but the pain was too much—fire was spreading through his being, burning him into nothing. The blade slid into Superman's forearm just above where his arm was unnaturally bent and drew a thin, deep line into the muscle. Superman's cry choked on a broken sob of sheer agony. Lois threw the gun away from herself forcefully.

"Okay, let him go!" she said, her own voice broken and she realized that her own face was damp with tears. "Let him go. Stop it—please!" Her words rose as Superman let out another tortured cry.

Behind her, the guard retrieved his gun and now limped towards her, swearing violently. He took hold of her arm in a death grip and dragged her from the room.

"Superman!" Lois called his name, as she had so many times before, but this time he didn't answer. He was so pale, now…lying slightly curled up like a broken toy—shaking and struggling for breath around ragged sobs as his own blood stained the blue of his suit and the cold metal beneath him. She needed to see him respond—to give some clue that he was going to be okay. But he didn't even seem to hear her. A second guard joined the first and pulled her out and closed the door behind her with finality.

Lois was shivering herself as she was pulled away. To her surprise they only took her a single room down before swiping their card through the high-security lock and tossing her inside the brightly-lit room. She blinked at the white walls, at the white floor, and at the blinding light that gleamed off a single camera perched in the corner like a soulless eye. The door closed behind her, locking her away alone.

TBC...

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	4. Stray Cats

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Chapter 4: Stray Cats

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Lois staggered to a partially-shielded toilet in the corner just in time to empty her stomach into the clean porcelain bowl. She hadn't eaten since breakfast (a bagel and coffee that Clark had forced upon her), and now it was well into the night, so there wasn't much to lose, but after a couple minutes she sat back onto the floor, pale and shaking herself as she relived the sharp blade cutting into Superman's perfect, pale skin. His arm twisting in a way that a human was never meant to bend. His usual confidence and easy smile, restrained as it was, contrasting against the pain and terror of now.

She shuddered, trying to push the vivid images from her mind as she rinsed out her mouth and forced herself to drink some water. She was probably dehydrated, and couldn't afford to let herself become weak. She had to be ready to get out of here.

She sat shakily on a firmly secured, small-cotted bed that sat against the wall and began twisting the thin white sheets between her fingers. A faint, almost-unheard scream made her grow still as blood drained further from her face. She listened hard, thinking and hoping that, perhaps, it was just a memory of his screams haunting her. She heard nothing more, and didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

They brought her food—a good, healthy selection of steaming chicken soup with bread and fruit on the side, along with a cup of orange juice—freshly squeezed. Their point was understood: Bureau 39 had done their research well. They slid it in on the floor without even entering, but Lois was hardly tempted to eat at the present moment. She almost wished that they could have brought her something horrid—stale bread and rotten meat, perhaps. It would better fit the situation, her mood, and the rolling of her stomach. Still, she carefully lifted the tray and put it aside where it was less likely to get in the way of the door.

Lois must not have turned the water off from the sink all the way—a single, echoing, dripping drop seemed to keep time like a slow and tortured drumbeat. It was driving her mad, but she couldn't summon enough energy to go and turn it off.

"Come on, Lois," she spoke out loud, wiping away tears she hadn't noticed were drying on her cheeks. "You're going to be all right. They aren't going to touch you. You just need to be ready. You can do this." Her words seemed to travel only a few inches from her mouth before falling thick and silent in the bright white air.

It seemed like an eternity before the door opened again. The same guard from earlier entered first, fixing Lois with a dangerous glare as she stood up. Superman was wheeled in next. He was unconscious again. His head lolled limply as the bed on which he laid pulled to a stop. His skin was slick with sweat and his hair clung to his face damply.

The guards lifted him onto the bed, and Dr. Logram leaned over him, adjusting Superman's now-bandage-covered arm. Lois could see a faint tinge of pink through the white where the blood was already seeping through the linen.

"What did you do to him?" Lois's voice was somewhat weak. She didn't know if she wanted to know.

"Ah, well, a tissue sample," Logram said. "We weren't going to do it until he had ample time to recover a bit, but your stunt in there…Well, we needed to set his arm anyway, and with the cut already made, we thought we might as well do it now." He glanced at the untouched tray of food on the floor. "You should eat. We'll get some down for him, as well, though…Ah, well. I suppose he will need to eat. I guess we'll find out, hm?"

Lois didn't answer him. "Tissue sample?" she echoed faintly.

"We removed a portion of his brachioradial muscle. Or, at least, that's the closest to what it would be if he were human. It will take some time to determine the chemical makeup, but even the structure itself is…astounding."

He straightened. "We'll be keeping an eye on him, Miss Lane, but I think you would rather be taking care of him. Ah, I thought so. I suppose it will be good for him to have someone he sees as a friend here. We don't want to lose him so early in the research. Do make sure he recovers his strength a bit, hm?" He turned and left.

Lois stood there uncertainly for a moment, then sat down at the bedside and caught Superman's hand. His skin was damp and hot—unnaturally so, even for someone bearing a fever. She looked up to his now flushed face and stood.

She forced herself to drink some of the lukewarm soup—just so it wouldn't go to waste when she dumped the rest down the toilet. She rinsed the bowl and filled with water and, finding nothing else, tore the cuff off one of her pant legs to dampen and lay on his flushed brow.

She took a deep breath to stave off her own weariness and got down to work. It was going to be a long night.

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Lois woke up from where she had fallen asleep beside the bed with a stiff neck and gritty eyes, feeling as if she hadn't slept at all. From her watch she realized it was early afternoon—she had fallen asleep just after when the sun was rising somewhere over a glowing Metropolis, when the Daily Planet was beginning to wake up into its busy hive of activity, and Clark Kent was probably bumbling into Perry's office, wondering where she had got to.

Superman's fever had fortunately not gotten much worse during the night, for which she was very grateful. She had bathed his flushed face until the early hours of the morning, until it seemed to her that he had drifted from unconsciousness and into an uneasy sleep. He had awoken once, crying and shaking, but Lois and held him until he had drifted back into sleep. She doubted he would even remember it. As for herself, she had been too exhausted even to have nightmares, it seemed.

She felt eyes on her and she lifted her head to see Superman looking at her. As soon as she did, he averted his eyes. He didn't want her to see his shame and helpless fear.

"Superman?" Lois asked, rising in an attempt to catch his eye again. "How are you?"

Clark swallowed, shutting his eyes. He shifted slightly, and his breath trembled slightly at the shots of pain.

"I'm…fine," he whispered, and was ashamed as his voice shook slightly. His whole being was shaking. He had spent the last few minutes before Lois awoke remembering what had happened, and staring at the door—petrified at the thought of what might come through for him.

Lois snorted softly. "One thing I can say about both of us, flyboy—neither of us is 'fine.' Least of all you." She adjusted her jacket that she had placed over him the night before to try and keep him warm, along with his cape and the thin sheet on the bed. She sat down next to him, pushing her hair from her face. "I mean, no coffee, no morning shower, and I'm sure my makeup is smeared enough to serve as effective disguise as a servant of Doom. Too bad I don't have enough for you too, or we'd be able to sneak out of here."

Clark appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood. A weak smile slid onto his face, but it faltered and disappeared after but a moment. He looked at her, no trace of mirth on his too-pale face. "You look wonderful," he said, his voice rough.

Lois blinked and blushed despite the absurdity to do such a thing in such a situation as this. Superman's broken arm lay still across his S-shield, and Lois forced her eyes away from the deep red stain that marked the slightly shivering wrapping. She took his hand and forced a smile onto her face. "We'll get out of here, Superman," she said firmly. "I always do, you know."

"I suppose…" Clark winced. His throat felt rubbed raw. As if understanding his grimace Lois leaned down and lifted a cup of water from the tray—it had arrived on their breakfast tray just before she had fallen asleep. He pulled his hand from hers to take it, but even before he touched the cup his hand was shaking so bad that it would have spilled the water all over the cot. Lois shook her head.

"It's all right, Superman," she said. He was able to lift his head, shifting tenderly to rise on his good elbow slightly as Lois brought the cup to his lips. He just sipped at first, before draining the cup like a man dying of thirst.

"Thank you," he said, his voice slightly stronger as he lay back on the bed. Lois put down the cup. She grabbed his good hand again—she had hardly let go of it since he had come to this room, and it helped her feel anchored—less like she was about to be swept away in the flood of dark dreams that had carried away her reality. "I—I was going to say: I suppose you have a little more experience in the 'being held against your will' category than I do."

"I resent that," Lois shot back, but was glad for his response. His eyes had taken in a little glimmer of light that she had been afraid might have been puffed out for good. "But you know, I do know a thing or two about situations like this. So you need to eat. Build back up your strength so we can get out of here when the opportunity comes." She reached down and picked up a bowl of creamy mush that might have been warm some hours before and stirred it. "Mmm…" she said, taking a spoonful of a shapeless mush and holding it out to him temptingly.

Superman looked at her, down to the spoon, and then back up at her, blinking. "I can feed myself, Lois," Clark said, slightly embarrassed.

"Of course you can," Lois said. "But you are too much of a gentleman to turn me down, aren't you?" She brought the spoon forward, so that Clark was faced with the struggle of choice between opening his mouth and receiving a spoonful of gelatinous mass smashed over his face. He chose the one that was the least damaging. The mush tasted bland at best, but considering the rolling of his stomach the lack of flavor was probably for the best. "Besides, I have plenty of experience in this area," Lois said, sounding a bit satisfied.

Clark lifted his eyebrows—distantly noticing how even that slight movement hurt, but he didn't get chance to ask before Lois swept in with another spoonful.

"When I went to Met U," Lois explained, seeing his look. "I found a stray, dirty little kitten." She saw his expression and turned defensive. "I'm not a softie, Superman."

"I would never presume such a thing," Clark assured her.

Lois gave him a suspicious glare despite his earnest expression. "I'm not an animal person," she continued, "but this little thing followed me home and I couldn't say no. I had to feed it by hand for a month. He was a naughty little creature," she added, some affectionate creeping into her tone despite herself.

"What…what happened to it?" Clark asked, his voice still shamefully weak. Still, he was intrigued. Lois always seemed to put out a wall of steel about herself, and glimpsing the compassion lay behind it was always amazing to him. He was quite sure he hadn't seen a cat in Lois's apartment.

"He got hit by a car, a couple years ago," she said with a careless shrug, though the careless façade was thin and Clark saw right through it. "I don't really have time for cats, anyway, so…" She shrugged again and brought the spoon up.

"So I'm your stray cat?"

"I figure you save cats from trees, so saving the man who saves cats from trees is the next best thing," Lois said with an emphatic nod. She was surprised to find how easily she bantered with her hero—he always seemed so disconnected, but now he was so vulnerable and so…_human. _She felt quite comfortable teasing him and bouncing words back and forth between them. It was a very surreal feeling. "It's just a little safer, seeing as when I take you home with me I don't think I'll have anybody knocking on my door to apologize for hitting you with their car, except maybe to ask for car repairs."

Superman's expression dimmed slightly. His cast-wrapped arm throbbed terribly, and the reminder of his usual strength brought him back to where he was now. His shivers, which had fallen still, started up again.

He ate as much as he felt comfortable, and drained another cup of water before laying back, feeling exhausted.

"Go to sleep, now, Superman," Lois said. "Eating and sleeping is about as much as I'm going to let you do for a couple days."

Clark nodded, but his eyes were drawn almost unwillingly to the door. Lois saw where he looked and her expression turned serious.

"They're not coming," she said. "They said they'd give you some days to recover a bit. We're going to do that better than they think, all right? Now go to sleep."

Superman was too tired to resist sleep even had he wanted to. He closed his eyes, feeling Lois's hand slip into his again.

TBC...

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	5. Dreams, Chocolate, and Superheroes

There. I caught up with my chapters over here, and here finally comes a new chapter that I'm posting new everywhere it's being posted at once...if that makes sense. So please, reviews are extra important from this chapter on!

I think I have become obsessed with reviews!

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Chapter 5: Dreams, Chocolate, and Superheroes

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_He was trapped. Hands and eyes caught and pried at him, opening him up to the world, to the ever-watching eyes. He struggled against them, but a light was blinding him, pinning him on the cold metal table beneath him that burned his skin through his Suit.. _

_"Alien! Freak!"_

_"They'll dissect you like a frog!" _

_"The alien…" _

_"Look at this…" _

_"He's the frog you dissected in your fourth grade elementary school class." _

_"An alien." _

_"N-no," Clark stuttered, lifting his arms to try to ward off the pressing masses around him—to block out the painfully white light. Lois. Where was Lois? He grasped for her desperately, but there were only empty eyes and clutching hands. Dr. Logram's face emerged from the press and grabbed his arm, twisting it and shattering it between his fingers. Clark screamed, and blood poured from between the doctor's hands as he leered down at him. _

_"Amazing," he breathed, his palms slick with Clark's blood. "It's a miracle." _

Clark jerked awake, gasping out a strangled scream as he sat up abruptly despite the pain. His eyes darted about the room as he clutched his injured arm, pushing back against the white wall behind him as if trying to disappear into the nothingness.

"Superman!" Soft hands touched him and he recoiled sharply, hitting his still-tender head against the wall. His vision exploded in white.

"Superman—it was just a dream. Superman." The hands came again, but they were warm, and delicate arms wrapped around him and held him as he shook. Lois hushed his cries until his shaking stilled. He lifted his head to find Lois looking at him with wide eyes, so beautiful and dark…so concerned. For him.

He nodded, signifying that he was all right—well, more or less. Lois stepped back as he gingerly moved so that he was sitting, his back propped up against the wall as he sat on the bed. He wiped his sweat-damp brow with an unsteady hand. Lois sat beside him, watching him. Her hair was ruffled as if she had just awoken.

"S-sorry," he mumbled.

Lois was inwardly seething. She had been sleeping herself when she had been awoken by Superman's distress, and when she tried to wake him he had recoiled back in pure terror. She wanted nothing more than to string out the men responsible and unleash the strength of her fury upon them. They were lucky if the least they got was being locked away for the rest of their mortal lives. "Don't be sorry," Lois snapped. Superman flinched and she immediately softened her tone, albeit only slightly. "It's not your fault."

Superman didn't answer, his head bowed so low to his chest that his dark hair fell down to hide his eyes, and Lois wondered after a few seconds if he hand not fallen back asleep. But then he spoke, though it was barely more than a whisper.

"Yes it is. They're right, Lois: I'm an…alien. I've endangered you by ever coming close to you. You…you shouldn't have come here, Lois. They just wanted me, and…even if they kill me…Lois…Lois…" He trailed off. "I'm going to ask them to let you go."

Lois bristled like an angry bobcat, and it was fortunate that Clark was already so battered and bruised or he would have been in for a heavy beating.

"Don't you _dare_," Lois nearly snarled. "I don't know what's the matter with you. These men are evil—their leader tried to kill Clark and me only a few days ago in Smallville. They're crazy, like the Klu-Klux-Klan or Al Qaeda. You can't blame yourself for a few men's stupid, blind prejudice!"

Clark blinked up at her, surprised by the ferocity of her tone.

She stomped to the far wall and back again, growling under her breath like the mad dog that she was known by many to be. Finally she stomped towards him, lifted a tray bearing two bowls of some creamy off-white soup, and plopped down to sit by him.

"Here," she said coldly, but despite her tone she didn't shove the bowl into his hand like her manner would expect. She held it steady until she was quite sure that he could hold it on his own, and watched him like a hawk while he lifted the first bite to his mouth.

They ate in silence, sitting side-by-side in a colorless world on a too-hard mattress.

Superman cleaned the bowl out completely and bent to put it back on the floor, but Lois took it from him before he could bend over too far, almost as if she could tell how the world spun around him as he began the motion.

Lois didn't speak at first. She looked at Superman sideways, noting how his face was still far more pale than his usual healthy coloring. She watched as he reached up and tried to brush his hair back into its usual style, though despite his best efforts it still seemed to want to hang over his brow. It didn't look bad that way, Lois decided. She hesitated in the long silence, not wanting to pry like those horrible 'doctors,' but realizing that if she overstepped her bounds it wasn't like he was going anywhere. He would have to stay put until she could apologize, at least.

"It's good to know that you do eat," Lois said slowly. "The doctors—" She saw Superman's complexion turn pasty and quickly amended her words—"_They_ said they didn't even know if you ate, or slept, even. Then I was surprised to realize that I'd never even thought to ask you." Clark shifted, uncomfortable. His arm was still screaming with pain, with the reminder of why he was there—how he was different—though now at least the pain was somewhat manageable. Lois saw his discomfort and turned the topic slightly. "So, what's your favorite food?"

"P-pardon?"

"Your favorite food," Lois repeated, though she was pretty sure he had heard her the first time. "You can go anywhere. You've probably been to more countries than anyone else who ever lived, and you've only been around for a few months. Or is there some Krypon-food that puts Earthly victuals to shame?"

"Uh…I don't know," he mumbled.

"I love Chinese food," Lois offered. "Have you been to Lotus Garden? It's just in Metropolis, but it's amazing. I'll have to order take-out sometime and have you over—it's heaven. Ooh—and chocolate. Flyboy, if you haven't had chocolate, I have to introduce you to it. It's the reason for Earth's being."

Clark had indeed been to Metropolis's Lotus Garden—a little family-run restaurant in China Town—before, but he didn't say so. He smiled the slightest bit at the chocolate comment, then realized Lois was waiting for a response. Well, she thought he had only been on Earth for a short amount of time, so of course she would assume his experiences were rather limited. But still, there was no harm in answering honestly about something like this. "I, uh…I enjoy Chinese, too, but I think Italian is my favorite. Spaghetti. There's this little shop in Venice, and their pasta is superb."

"Spaghetti?" Lois repeated, grinning to herself at the absurdity of the situation. "But you have tried chocolate?"

"I can say I understand your love of it, Lois."

Lois nodded. "Good," she said. "When we get out of here you can bring me some chocolate, then. The real kind, not the plastic brown stuff from the grocery store. _Real_ chocolate. Swiss chocolate. And I'll order some take-out pasta and you can come over and we can watch a movie."

She was taking it for granted that they were going to get out of there at all, and while Clark had his doubts, he felt his spirits rise with casual utterances. After all, Lois _did _ have more experience in these sort of situation.

"A movie?" Clark stopped still in the conversation. Lois was talking to Superman—the injured alien whose spirits she was trying to keep from falling to the pit of despair. Not Clark Kent. Not her normal, farmboy, Mr. Green-jeans, I'm-from-Kansas partner . She was talking man she swooned over…well, usually. Right now she looked as if she was trying very hard to keep from whacking him over the head, Clark realized suddenly. He was somewhat confused to the sudden change in attitude. "What is it?"

"You're getting that _look_ on your face," Lois said, her eyes narrowed.

"What look?"

"_That_ look. The superhero look. The 'I'm going to back off now before anyone gets too close' look. The 'Don't touch me—I am Superman" look. Look, Superman, I've been around you for almost two days straight now, and even though you've been out for most of that, I've seen right past that little game of yours. You can take off that mask for me—I'm never going to fall for it again."

Clark blinked at her.

"Look, I understand why you might distance yourself like that. I mean, you'd be mobbed if you tried to settle down for too long, and it would ruin you—I mean, the image you've created. A hero: unbreakable, solid, unmoving, confident. That's nice and all, but…you can't be surprised that I've seen past that over the last couple of days." She squeezed his hand. "You are a person too, no matter how noble the things you do are."

Clark was shaken by her firm words. But he frowned. He slipped his hand from hers for a moment to brush his hair back from his face again, but in vain. It was almost the exact same thing he had been wanting to tell her since she had first stared at Superman with those star-struck eyes. That awe-filled expression was gone now, he noticed, and was replaced instead by something far deeper and intense. It frightened him.

He glanced at her. She claimed to have seen past the mask, but there was no recognition of him in her eyes. He supposed at the moment he looked too miserable to be recognized even as Clark Kent, no matter how mortal he appeared.

The conversation tired him out. He was frustrated with his own weakness, but Lois just forced another drink of water on him and told him that he needed to sleep—he had lost a lot of blood, and sleep, food, and lots of water was what he needed most.


	6. Superman and Clark Kent

Hello, all! Next chapter ready to go. Please remember to review! I'd love to hear your input...it helps feed the Muses. You know how over-demanding they can be...

This chapter is dedicated to all Lurkers everywhere. I was one for almost 6 years. May you soon realize the error of your ways and come to the light :D.

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Chapter 6: Superman and Clark Kent

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After Superman had drifted off to sleep once again, Lois slipped her hand from his and stood, looking around the room. She had already gone over every inch of it twice, searching for a vent, a weapon…anything. She had even pulled at the porcelain toilet seat in hopes that it might come off, but it was tightly secured. The bowls and cups were weak Tupperware plastic, the utensils cheap plastic. Even the trays were made out of a soft, light material that probably wouldn't leave a bruise no matter how hard you hit someone with it. The best weapon she had was her notepad that they had let her keep (They had taken the pen, claiming that even it could be made into a weapon. Lois had barely been able to keep from attacking them then and there when they said that.), so the only thing she could hope for was if one of them stood still long enough so she might be able to paper-cut him to death.

The card-key doorknob eliminated the chance of picking the lock, and Lois she didn't have any credit cards to try anything else. There was only one option left open that she saw, and it was a small one. She needed to get a card-key.

She had waited just inside the door for the lunch tray to be brought, hoping to perhaps catch the guard by surprise. But the guard had simply called in that he could see her with the camera, and wasn't opening the door until she stepped away. She had complied, seeing as there was nothing else left to do.

Indeed, there really was nothing left to do, so she went around the room, telling herself she was looking yet again for something she might have missed, though knowing it was simply because she was growing restless and there was nothing else to do but pace. She cast a baleful glare at the still, beady-eyed camera and flipped her hair away from her face. It was an awful situation. There was nothing she could do until the doctors returned, but she knew that when they did it would not mean anything but bad things for her and Superman's situation.

She paced for a full hour—trying, perhaps, to leave a mark on that too-white floor from her bare feet (Her heels and socks had been abandoned at the foot of the bed along with Superman's boots.), before growing bored of that and going to sit on the floor so she could watch Superman sleep.

Superman woke up once more that day—around 10 o'clock at night, according to Lois's watch. He woke up screaming so terribly that Lois had thought her ears were threatening to burst, before she manage to wake him fully, whereupon he had managed to stagger to the toilet and lose the remnants of the lunch he had eaten some hours before. He was too weak to get back to the bed alone, and Lois practically had to carry him there.

He looked miserable as he collapsed back to sit against the wall. Lois managed to get him to drink a bit, and after a while even coaxed a bit of supper into him. Afterwards Superman was broodingly silent, but with some general ranting and teasing Lois pulled him out of the shadows again. She pried him into a conversation about inane things—favorite colors, places, animals, books, and many other things (Lois had been surprised to find that Superman had a favorite movie: _The Scarlet Pimpernel_—the tale of the first superhero, he had explained, an almost-smile appearing on his bleak face). Superman liked chocolate ice cream better than rocky road and wouldn't have given up his ability to fly for invisibility no matter what Lois had to say on the subject. But even so, by the end of the day they seemed to have run out of things to say. Superman fell asleep with a small smile on his face in the middle of Lois's rant as she wondered _how _he could possibly like _raspberries_, of all things, best out of all the fruit in the world that he had tried (and he had tried many, he claimed).

He woke up twice during the night from nightmares, but they were brief and fell back to sleep fitfully as Lois woke from where she lay on the floor beside the bed and murmured soft comforts. She herself woke up sweating and shaking from a nightmare of her own more than once, but she had been able to keep from screaming even in her sleep, afraid of waking Superman from his much-needed rest. She got up around eight in the morning—cursing the unheeding white lights that hadn't dimmed in the slightest throughout the night. Her eyes were starting to hurt from the glare, and they had only been locked in there for a little over a full day. She stood, stalked around the room muttering, then washed her face and combed her hair out as best as she could with her fingers—which was not very well. Finally, feeling quite grumpy, she turned back to the man on the bed.

She looked at Superman to find him sleeping peacefully yet. She hesitated, then reached forward to wake him. It would be good, she thought, for him to wake up without having to jump from the arms of a nightmare.

"Superman? Superman? It's time to get up." Despite her mood, her tone was gentle. She brushed her hand over his brow.

Clark's brow furrowed slightly, but his eyes didn't open. He took a deep, sleepy breath. "'Kay. Jus' five more minutes," he murmured, before turning his head away slightly and promptly falling back to sleep.

If Lois had been a morning person, she might have laughed. But since she wasn't a morning person and she was not in the best of moods even considering that, she poked him in the shoulder, less gently this time.

"I'm not an alarm clock with a snooze button, Superman. Get up or I'll drag you from that bed, injuries or no."

He shifted slightly, groaning slightly as he came to the land of the wakeful again. He rolled over and opened his eyes, blinking at her blurrily. Suddenly he seemed to realize where he was and he stiffened and sat up quickly.

"Lois?" he asked, his voice business-like in trademark Superman tone even while it was thick from sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Just that you are as bad to wake up as my sister." He blinked at her with some confusion, then shook his head slightly as if to try to banish the last remnants of sleep. It didn't work very well. "How are you feeling?"

Clark took a deep breath, taking inventory. He winced as his attention snapped to his throbbing arm and his still-sore head, but other than that… "Better," he said honestly. He saw the question in her eyes. "But still not super."

Lois looked disappointed despite herself. Superman still looked pale and hardly a shadow compared to his normal self, but she had still hoped. "How long do you think it will be?"

Clark looked grim, shifting his injured arm over still-sore ribs tenderly. "Last time it took a little over 24 hours, but that was only after a minute or so of exposure," he admitted somberly. "With so long and…everything else…I—I don't know."

"Last time?" Lois demanded.

Clark shrugged, hoping she wouldn't press the issue. Lois looked at him through narrowed eyes, but she let him be—this time, probably because just then breakfast arrived. Clark knew the subject was not being ignored or forgotten.

They ate in silence—the same, bland mush as the day before. There had been a bowl of raspberries on the side, but as Clark had reached for them he had remembered his and Lois's conversation the day before. He glanced up at the camera, paling slightly further, and then avoided the fruit entirely. It was yet another reminder that they were watching him. While he and Lois were together now, there was only a matter of time. He shuddered.

They had said he needed to recover his strength. What did they plan with him? His expression became increasingly grim and bleak as he stared at the mush in his bowl, his appetite lost. Lois was too busy squint-glaring at the lights and attacking her breakfast as if she were imagining that she was mashing their captors rather than the bowl's actual contents to notice.

They finished up and put their bowls aside. Lois noticed how little he had eaten and questioned him immediately.

"I'm…just not feeling too great right now," he said softly. Not a lie at all.

Lois didn't look satisfied, but again she didn't press him. "You'll be eating extra for lunch, then," she stated firmly. She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment and rubbing her forehead. Superman glanced up at her through his hair, then looked away.

"I'm sorry about this, Lois," Clark whispered.

Lois opened her eyes to look at him, and almost swore when she saw the transformation that had overtaken him. He was hunched, his skin pale, and his hands were shaking again as he hugged his bandaged arm close to him.

"Superman, if you apologize one more time, those men out there are going to be the least of your problems," Lois threatened. "What are you even sorry for? For me being an idiot and walking right into these peoples' hands? For trying to rescue me?"

"You know that's not it. You couldn't have known," Superman said, his voice toneless. "You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."

Lois bristled. Oh, this man had a way of calling up the mad dog in her. "I chose to come here, Superman. And if you think it's a bad idea just come out and call me an idiot to my face rather than trying to apologize for my actions!"

She stood up sharply from where she had been sitting on the bed beside him and stepped agitatedly away from him before stopping abruptly, staring at the white wall in front of her. She stood there for a moment, her bare toes curling and uncurling as she rocked on her heels in irritation.

After a long moment of loud silence she seemed to get a hold of herself and she turned around. "Come on. We need to walk around," she said, her voice clipped

"Why?" Superman asked softly, hardly looking up at her.

"My father is a doctor," Lois explained, all business. "I remember something about patients who are bedridden developing pneumonia or something from the lack of aerobic exertion. If you feel up to it, we should start trying to help you on your way to recovery. Just a couple times around the room."

She looked down at him and found him looking into her eyes with a strange intensity. Lois never ceased to surprise Clark. He had known somewhat of her strength, but now he realized just how strong that cord of steel that wound around her tender soul was. He held her gaze for a moment before realizing what he was doing, and looked away quickly. He cleared his throat and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, stubbornly trying to ignore the sharp twangs and aches as he moved.

Lois was irritated further by how hard it was to resist the urge to help him, even while she was angry at him. But she understood that he needed to do this alone—some instinctive man thing that was true for males of all species, not matter what corner of the galaxy they were from, she supposed. Still, she hovered close by, just in case.

Superman paused to catch his breath, closing his eyes until the blood stopped rushing from his head and he felt that the floor was at least somewhat stable. He began to stand, and this time Lois came forward to support his good side. Man may need his pride, but she wasn't going risk him falling even for that. Together they began a slow, almost shuffling walk around the room.

"I've decided I hate the color white," Lois muttered, supporting a fair portion of Superman's strength as they limped forward. "What are they trying to do? Turn the whole tradition of mankind on its head? They should be feeding us gruel and bitter-tasting water, and the walls should be black. Dark black. It just shows how confused they really are." She paused, and couldn't resist a jab. "Kind of like you, but you're more frustrating about it."

Superman looked at her, but she was busy glaring at the walls and lights again. He shook his head ruefully. He didn't ever know what to think of the woman. Despite himself, he felt his spirits lifting again.

He surprised himself when his agreement of the color manifested itself in a weak chuckle, but the burning in his ribs and shortness of his breath kept him from making further comment. Encouraged, Lois determined that she could come back to her anger later. Right now the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth were enough to drive some instinct in her to help distract him from his injuries.

Lois continued, "I think when I get out of here I'm going to paint my apartment. You can help, of course. I've noticed you have a wonderful sense of color and what goes together best," she finished with a pointed glance at his primary-colored suit. Her eyes threatened to linger on the patches of dark red where blood had splattered on his shoulder and torso and dried there, but she forcefully pulled them away.

Clark's chuckle was slightly louder this time, but breathless. "Please, Lois," he managed between breaths. "Your…opinion of me is clearly…quite skewed and out of proportion. Your…flattery is just…too much."

They walked around the small room two times before Clark's legs gave out. He almost fell, but caught himself with Lois's help and they were able to make it back to the bed and lie him down.

Superman was dismayed by his continued weakness, and Lois recognized that as he struggled to catch his breath. She took is good hand and squeezed it.

"That's just fine," Lois said with forced cheer. "We'll do it again after lunch, if you feel up to it. No pneumonia for you while you're under my care."

"You know," Superman said with weak humor. "I don't even know if I can get pneumonia." He saw Lois's sideways look and continued. "Pneumonia is excess fluid in the lungs, right? Well, truthfully, I don't even know if I _have_ lungs." He had started out with a wry tone, but by the end his tone was surprisingly bitter, which was almost even worse than the despair that had crept into his voice and expression now and again.

"What do you mean?" Lois asked. "Didn't you learn anything about Kryptonian physiology before coming to Earth?"

Clark blinked at her owlishly. He had forgotten himself, for a moment. He shook his head slightly, but then stopped the action when it caused his head to start throbbing out a beat on the bruise there like an over-enthusiastic and not-very skilled drummer. Lois was watching him. "Uh…well, you see…I was young when I left Krypton, and I…uh…hadn't really learned, really. It was a long trip here, as you can imagine, but…I don't remember much of it. And outwardly, you know…I'm just like a…like a human." He hesitated. Lois watched him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly parted as she listened, her whole body intent on his words. That's what he loved about her—she was so, completely intense, even while her eyes were deep within his, telling him more than words that she was listening, and that she cared. And here and now, more than ever, that was what was important. He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand gently. He didn't even remember when she had slipped her hand inside his. "I…uh. I landed on Earth some years ago. That's when I…uh…met Clark. He showed me what it meant to be human—helped me understand this world and love it. I know this world better than I ever knew Krypton, and I settled down in hope of belonging. I didn't know I had powers, and when they appeared…well, it was as much of a surprise for me as for anyone else. I thought I was just like everyone else, at first."

"You landed in _Kansas_?" Lois said, sounding as if she had stuck her hand into a bowl of slimy, cold pasta with her eyes closed. Clark looked at her, trying to figure what Lois's strange emphasis meant, but she shook her head. "Never mind. But that ship that Bureau 39 found from 1964…It was so small…"

"Uh…that was before," Clark said quickly. "It was…kind of a test to make sure this world was…one that Kryptonians could survive on."

Lois sat down by him. "A week ago I would have killed for this exclusive," she commented. At Superman's somewhat caged expression, she shook her head. "Of course I won't write anything you don't want, Superman." She paused, but then looked at him keenly.

"So _that's_ how you know Clark. The super hero and the farmboy, hm? Why'd you pick him, of all people?"

Superman shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "Well… Clark headed out to travel the world, and I figured I'd go with him," he fumbled. "I could fly by then, and so I saved him some flight miles and he helped me…fit in."

"Which explains the Chinese," Lois said, looking somehow both annoyed and satisfied. "You must have helped him. I knew it."

Superman was uneasy with the conversation so much among himself and…well, his other self, so he didn't ask what exactly Lois had known.

"So why didn't we hear of you before?" Lois prodded after a moment. "I mean, no offense, but that Suit of yours is not exactly one that could go unnoticed, even in the more…colorful places in the world." She gave him a sideways look. "The Suit…it _does_ come off, doesn't it?" she added, hesitantly.

Clark chuckled, and his cheeks colored. "Uh, well, of course, Lois." He cleared his throat, embarrassed. He floundered for a moment. "But…uh…even I was careful not to be seen…doing 'super' things, I mean," he said. "I—we had to keep moving, anyway, since people started to suspect the little miracles that started to happen."

"And some not-so-little miracles as well, I'm sure," Lois said with a knowing look in her eye.

"Well, you know…since we came to Metropolis Clark and I have kind of…grown apart."

"I can see why," Lois said. "Working around the schedules of an investigative news reporter and a world-serving superhero has got to be next to impossible."

"Yes," Superman said slowly. "But…I think it was more…something else."

Lois waited.

"It's…not safe to be my friend, Lois. You understand that now. Clark…he didn't really want me to go public. He knew the risk that could come to his parents and associates if we grew to be friends. So…we kept distant, even when we traveled together, and when I went public…that was it." He shrugged.

Lois looked furious. "Why that…that…that _coward_," she quivered angrily. Clark jumped at the venom in her tone. He had been so caught up in balancing truth and…uh…not-quite-lies that he hadn't seen the growing doom billowing in the stormy sky of Lois's face. "That spineless little…Superman, I'm sorry! When I get my hands on him…"

"Actually, it was my idea," he said, somewhat hurriedly, not wanting to hear the terrible possible fate that Lois was brewing inside of her for one Clark Kent.

Lois's expression closed tightly. "I should have known," she muttered. "Mr. Nobility himself. Don't you have _any_ idea of self-protection? Some sort of pleasure or gratification to look forward to after a good day's work of juggling boulders and saving the world in general?"

Clark looked at her blankly, not sure what to say to that, and Lois sighed. "No, I should have known not."

TBC...

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	7. To Lose it All

Thanks for everyone that reviewed!

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Chapter 7: To Lose it All

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"Trust me, you don't want to know about my family," Lois replied to Superman's inquiry. "They're all crazy." It was a bit after lunch, the second day after being locked away in this room. They had been talking for some time, but his last question had taken Lois by surprise.

As she hesitated, however, she looked at him and wondered. He was the last of all Kryptonians. She had thought of it, but it had never struck her how truly awful that thought was. How terribly lonely. How did he go on doing what he did, all alone? He must have had a family on Krypton, after all. She swore at herself mentally. Had he been married? Had kids? Who knew how old he was—whether he even aged at the same rate as humans? If he wasn't married (Or did Kryptonians marry at all? _That_ was a weird thought.), what about his parents? Goodness, did he even _have _parents like humans did…?

Lois shook her head, trying to calm the sudden attack of questions that had never even occurred to her to ask the superhero. She had always assumed that since he looked like a human, he came from a place not so different from Earth. After all, he seemed to have adjusted to Earth's culture well enough, and he had been so impersonal that such questions had seemed ridiculous. But now everything was different. She realized that she didn't know anything about him at all—and furiously squashed the rising curiosity of how different he really was. She was not like Bureau 39, and was furious that they had put that thought into her mind at all.

She shuddered, wondering why he had asked after her family at all; it must have cost him terribly to ask, having lost them, along with _everything_. Not just his family, but his favorite sport (Some form of flying basketball?), his job (Alien fire-fighter, perhaps?), his favorite hologram or whatever they did for wasting time…his whole _culture_. How did he manage?

"Well, there's Lucy," she started in a softer tone. "She has a new man on her arm every other month, it seems, and each one as much rash as the last. She's a good girl, though. I just…worry about her, you know?" Had he had any brothers and sisters that had been left behind? She took a deep breath. "My parents aren't…the best of people. My mom was an alcoholic when I was younger, and Dad was just…never around. They got divorced years ago, and can't stand the sight of each other."

"I'm sorry," Clark murmured, feeling bad for asking.

Lois looked at him sharply. "What did I tell you about apologizing?" she snapped.

"Sor—uh," Clark choked to stop himself as Lois's glare turned deadly.

"That's right," Lois said after a moment's pause as if to make sure her glare had burned a mark into his heart as a reminder of her warning. "Don't forget it."

They fell into another one of the countless silences of the day, but it was not uncomfortable. The ceiling lights hummed brightly overhead.

"Do you miss your family?" Lois asked after a very long pause. Superman tensed and turned to look at her, the look in his eyes unfathomable. He looked away without answering, his brow furrowed. Lois immediately felt guilty. She shouldn't be bringing up such things—not in here, where both of them were working so hard to keep the gloom at bay. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have asked."

Clark shrugged, but still didn't speak. "It's all right. I—yeah. I do miss them. Especially with, you know…" He dragged to a stop, looking at the door. Every time a meal was brought he was terrified that the person beyond the door was coming for him. It was only a matter of time. He took a long, shaky breath. He was so dreadfully alone—more alone than he ever had felt…more _different_ than he ever had felt…

Lois's warm hand squeezed his, bringing him out of his sinking thoughts.

"How awful you must think we are," Lois said, and her tone had regained some of the awe of happier days, though it was tarnished with shame for mankind. "You've only been here a short time, and I can't imagine all the horrible things you see…all alone."

"It's worth it," Clark said, looking at her. He had helped her so much already, and there was no harm in telling of some of Superman's experiences. After all, he _was _Superman, not matter how un-super he felt right now. "You know—the thank yous are enough, most of the time. Knowing that I'm helping one more family from losing a son, or a father, or a mother or a daughter. That's enough for me."

Lois shook her head. Considering his recent loss of his planet, it was no wonder that he felt that way. But still…

"The rescuing I can understand. But the wars, the crime…people killing people. And when you can't save them…what do you do?" She looked around the terrible white room, feeling a sudden prickling over her arms as she saw the camera staring back at her. She rubbed her arms to quell the slight chill. "How can you stand it?"

"It's not that bad, Lois," Clark said with a slight smile. There were the things that did indeed make it more than worth it. Besides the sincere thanks—the tears of relief, the realization that he was doing some good—there were those rare but cherished times that he had rushed back to the newsroom struggling for composure after a particularly humorous rescue situation. He just kept them to himself most of the time—what else was there to do? But he was sure Lois would appreciate them.

"See, I was flying over Switzerland a couple months ago," he said, "and some skydiver's parachute didn't open properly. He was having a great time feeling how it felt to fly without wings, but when he pulled the cord…he realized it wasn't all it was cut out to be, unless you know how to do it right." Clark gave a crooked smile. "I picked the guy up a good couple hundred feet above the ground. Usually they like me to, you know, take my time getting to the ground and all, but I think the guy almost kissed me when I finally put him back on solid ground."

He paused, his amusement turning slightly towards some good-humored embarrassment. Something tickled at the back of Lois's mind, then, but she couldn't put a finger on it.

"Well, we landed in a field by some of his friends, but people around had seen it all and, well…they get kind of excited, when they see me for the first time and all…" He looked embarrassed by this admittance, which Lois thought was amusing. There were people in Metropolis that had seen him every day since the day he first appeared that still screamed in worship and swooned whenever he even flew overhead. In fact, she had been one of them only a few days earlier….Not the swooning and screaming part, of course, but still…

She had never thought that he might actually be embarrassed by such a thing—the suit was certainly not one meant to keep him out of the spotlight.

Clark cleared his throat. "Well, you know, I just set the guy down and told him, you know, that it wasn't too good of an idea to fly unless you could make sure you knew how to land, then left. We were in a valley sort of thing, you know, and I took off. There were some kids there, and so I looked back to wave and…well, I guess I…just shot off at full speed before looking forward again. It was only a second, but…uh…going that speed without looking…" He winced, looking guilty. "I crashed into their mountain."

Lois laughed in pure surprise. "What?"

"It was near the tip," Clark explained, the slightest of a red tinge brushing his pale cheeks. "You know how tall the mountains get in Switzerland. I just…crashed through. I…I didn't even realize what had happened until I came out on the other side."

Lois couldn't help it—she burst out laughing helplessly, and couldn't seem to stop. She remembered seeing a poorly translated article from some random rural newspaper in Switzerland during one of her searches for her "Superman File" (which she was now somewhat embarrassed to remember. She was sure Superman would be quite embarrassed if he were to discover of it.). " Superman Hits Mountain in Alps." It had opened something like this: "Superman crashed into a mountain near the small Swiss town of Arosa this Thursday, after rescuing a Jonny Wilson, who was skydiving when his parachute failed to open correctly. Shortly before the accident it is reported that Superman had warned the man 'not try to fly without being able to land.'"

All sorts of paparazzi had jumped on the story and turned it into a brief but still noticeable flare of drama: whether Superman could be trusted in their skies or not. For most respectable people (like Lois), however, they had assumed it was one of the endless baseless stories revolving around the superhero that had no truth to them at all.

Lois leaned over, clutching her sides as she struggled to control her laughter. To have heard it was true would have been humorous, if a bit shocking. To hear it come from Superman's own mouth in such a clearly embarrassed—yet amused at his own mistake—way, was too much for her. It shouldn't have even been that funny, but with all the stress that had built up around her it felt like the funniest thing she had ever heard.

As she finally settled down she looked at Superman, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. He was grinning broadly—his eyes laughing even as he held his own sore ribs as he chuckled with her, but that was more for her own laughter than at his story.

"I heard about that!" Lois said. "The Star was pumping it all up to say that you needed to have a license for flying, or something…or had to pay a fee for an accident like that—something like a speeding ticket."

"I don't even know if they can track me at full speed," Superman said.

"No one paid any attention to them anyway."

"Still," Clark said slowly, his voice more serious. "I have been extra careful since—you know, keeping an eye open. With all of my extra senses…that shouldn't have happened. I was lucky no one got hurt."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Relax, Superman. Geez, sometimes it's like you try to carry the whole world on your shoulders." She sat back, her eyes dancing. "Do you have any more secrets?"

Clark blinked. "Well, uh. I do have more funny stories." He thought for a moment, then chuckled suddenly, leaning towards Lois the slightest bit.

"I was doing my rounds over Metropolis one day—you know, like always—and I…uh…"

He trailed off, looking away from her and towards the white door. He could feel something. His skin was beginning to crawl as ripples of slight pain—like the passing of icy cold drops of acid—began to tickle across his being.

"What is it?" Lois asked as he looked towards the door, his face drained of blood so completely that he looked like a ghost. "Superman?"

"I can feel it," he whispered. "It's just beyond the door, Lois—it must not lead, because I can feel it. T-they're com—"

The blinking yellow light on the door's lock beeped and turned green. The door opened. Clark cut off with a tight gasp as he recoiled in pain.

TBC...


	8. White, Red, and Green

Ah hah. Chapter 8. Thank you everyone who has reviewed thus far, and hopefully this will get a few more sparks for reviews coming.

pokes stick into fire to stir up the dying ashes

SUPER-DUPER MAJOR ANGSTY WHAMMY!

Disclaimer: Still not mine, still not betaed.

Additional disclaimer: I am not a doctor. I am a 19-year-old college student working for a math/English major, have never had to go to the hospital, and have absolutely no experience in a medical field of any kind beyond basic high school physiology. Any mistakes in the medical equipment, etc., is my fault. Any abnormalities in any reaction is defended by the fact that Superman is, indeed, an alien, so I have a certain range of freedom.

(Continue at your own risk)...

Er...Enjoy?

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Chapter 8: White, Red, and Green are not Happy Christmas Colors…

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Superman dragged himself backwards as best could, then wrapped his arms wrapping around his torso to try to shield himself as a guard stepped in, gun at the ready. Logram followed with the rolling metal table. Clark couldn't see the dreaded green crystal, but its presence coursed through him and he shivered against the white wall as if trying to huddle into it and disappear. Lois stood up, her own face paling.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, stepping protectively in front of Superman and staring down at the gathering of large men before her. "He's not ready. He can hardly walk."

"He doesn't need to walk, Miss Lane," Logram said, stepping forward calmly. "We just need a few more samples, that's all."

Superman gasped, shuddering terribly and pushing himself even farther away. He looked up at the doctor with shadowed eyes.

"L-logram," he forced out. "Y-you must have some s-shred of hum-humanity in you. D-don't do this."

Logram blinked at him, as if surprised to find that his alien specimen could talk—though Lois knew he had to have already known, considering the camera.

"Come on. We don't want him to become too weakened," a second, short doctor spoke from behind him. He peeked out at Lois with slightly frightened, watery eyes behind thick-framed glasses. He looked like a thin rodent.

The guard stepped forward, warning Lois away as two of his fellows came forward to take him. Superman struggled as their hands took hold of his shoulders, but he was already weak and the presence of kryptonite made him completely helpless as they pulled him forward.

Lois couldn't just stand there. She jumped forward, but even as she began to dive in to fight tooth and nails, one of the guards turned sharply, hitting the side of her face with the butt of his rifle. The force of the blow sent her sprawling, and for a second she struggled to stand, disoriented while the white lights of the room seemed to flash before her vision. Clutching her head, she staggered back to her feet. The guard grabbed her, keeping her from getting to Superman as they lay him down on the table and secured his arms and legs with strong cloth bindings.

"Lois!" Superman's voice was close to frantic as he struggled to look up and see her. He had heard the hit of metal on flesh and Lois's following cry, and it struck even through the present coursing fear, chasing away even the terrifying feel of their hands on him, of the kryptonite's burning fire boiling his blood, of the cold metal beneath him, and the pain as they wrenched his injured to bind it firm.

"No! Logram, let me stay with him," Lois said, not caring if she was pleading as she strained against the guard that held her. Panic seized her chest so she could hardly breathe—her voice was desperate. She just knew she couldn't let him out of her sight again. She couldn't leave him alone. If he had to suffer, she wanted him to know that there was something beyond this…something real beyond this darkest of dreams.

"From last time, Miss Lane, I have doubts that you have the stomach for it," Logram said, glancing briefly yet significantly towards the toilet where Lois had been violently ill when she had first been brought here. "Besides, considering your track record, I don't see why I should risk it."

Lois hesitated, desperate. "Just let me be there," she pleaded. She knew it would kill her to stand there and do nothing—but maybe an opportunity would present itself, and she could not miss it. Despite the fact that she wanted nothing more but to quiver into a ball on that too-small bed and forget everything that was happening, she couldn't. "Please."

Logram looked at her for a long moment, then turned away. "Fine," he said. "But one false move, Miss Lane, and you won't ever see the alien again. Understand?"

She was near petrified at the thought of being separated from Superman in this hole, especially if he was hurt so badly again. Even if she managed to escape, it would be near impossible to save him too if he were locked away somewhere else. She would have to be very, very careful. She nodded slowly.

Logram turned, gesturing for one of the guards to take Lois as the other two pushed Superman out in front of them. Lois pulled forward, wanting to be at his side, but the guard's grip was firm.

"Let me walk next to him, at least," Lois snapped at him, though her voice quavered. The guard glanced at Logram, who nodded in a preoccupied manner as he poured over some notes. Lois pulled out of the guard's handhold and reached forward to grab Superman's hand, though it was held tight and close to the table, so the grip felt awkward against the cold metal.

Superman was pale as death and sweating already for fear. Lois's grip on his hand was surely painful, but he just squeezed her hand back, though his fingers quivered. His dark eyes sought up for hers—he could not raise his head, as it was bound down by a restraint about his brow.

"Are you…okay?" he asked, noting the red mark that stained her fear-white face. "D-did they hurt you?" He managed to keep a relatively strong tone in his voice. They had put the kryptonite away, for now, and he needed to be brave for Lois's sake, no matter that his fear was almost enough to break him down into gibbering, weeping and pleading for help, mercy, _anything_.

Lois's own skin was pale, and even slightly green from her own fear even while as they stepped into the hall, the floor cold under her bare feet. Her eyes seemed to be moving constantly over the men around her, the walls, anywhere but at Superman, as if afraid she would break down if she looked at him. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. At his intent question, however, she looked down at him and had to look away quickly to stop the tears that were threatening to flow forth at his selflessness. She nodded, closing her eyes against a sudden burning in her eyes.

They entered the room. The cold grey metal held darker memories and a darker future than even the hated whiteness of their cell. They wheeled Superman to the center of the room, and began hooking him up to the monitors again. He breathed deeply, trying not to show the extent of his fear, though he knew he was trembling. The guard that had been watching Lois like a hawk (from a safe distance), now stepped forward to take her back.

"No," Lois tightened her grip on Superman's hand. "Let me stay with him." She spoke to Logram, who was carefully examining an awfully long, nasty-looking needle. It was clear his word was law, here.

"If you don't get in the way," Logram said, not looking at her. "And remember the risk you're taking, Miss Lane." Lois nodded.

"Wh—what are you going to do?" she asked, her mouth dry, but she had to ask.

The mousy-looking doctor lifted a needle that was much smaller than the one Logram held and came forward. "More blood tests, for one. Some x-rays, and a bone marrow extract." At that last thing, Lois turned white.

"B-bone marrow? Why?"

"Bone marrow is where blood cells are created," the short doctor continued, twitching slightly under her gaze. "At least, in humans that how it works, and we are assuming it is the same in this case. It may be the key to unlocking the secret of his immune system. Excuse me."

Lois didn't want to be removed from Superman's side, so she moved up to his shoulder and put her hand there as the doctor gestured her to the side. He swabbed the inside of Superman's arm with a disinfectant pad, then felt around before sticking the needle in. Superman looked away, closing his eyes as the vial filled with dark red blood. As the needle was removed and the doctor stepped away, he opened his eyes and looked at Lois.

"Lois," he whispered. "I don't want you to have to see this."

"I don't care," Lois replied, softly and tight.

Superman looked at her, his eyes looking deep into hers and seeing her tightly-restrained fear. He cleared his throat.

"Logr—" he began, speaking louder to attract the doctor's attention. Lois saw the sacrificing look on his face and understood what he was going to do even as he opened his mouth. She slapped her hand over his mouth so quickly that he winced.

"Don't," Lois hissed softly, lightning flashing in her eyes. "I am old enough to make my own decisions, Superman. You can't protect me from this." She eased her hand away from his mouth and brushed his hair back tenderly. "It would kill me to leave you, now."

Superman expression was dark, but slowly he let out a long, tense breath. His eyes didn't leave hers. He wanted to lose himself in them; drowning in those depths would be the best fate he could think of right now.

Lois was forced to step back as they took two more vials of blood and then moved Superman over for the x-ray machines, for which they placed him on a plastic-looking bed covered in a thick sort of black pad and moved a great large panel over various angles of him slowly. Lois stayed hovering as close as she could, catching Superman's eye whenever she could, but for the most part his expression was becoming more bleak, and he avoided her gaze as they moved him back onto the metal table. Lois stood at his head and gripped his shoulder.

Logram reached for the very large needle and Lois's breath caught. "Can't you give him something?" she demanded, albeit more weakly than she would have liked. "So he can't feel it as much? Or even knock him out?"

Logram looked at her. "All the blood and tissue tests we've done so far have proven to have no effect from the basic anesthetics and painkillers," he said. "And we aren't going to put something in him that we don't know the reaction of—it could kill the specimen."

He was back to 'the specimen.' Lois's stomach was so tense she felt sick. She gripped Superman's hand as the doctor cut away a square of his bright blue suit in the center of his thigh and cleaned his skin with a swab.

Superman had shut his eyes, but had gone strangely still. His muscles were tense as stone beneath Lois's hand on his shoulder, and his breathing was tense and tightly controlled.

Logram lifted the needle and came over.

"Superman," Lois breathed, reaching up to brush his face with a shaking hand. She didn't want to look. "Just listen to me, Superman. Try not to feel it—just listen to me."

Logram glanced at her, but must have decided she wasn't doing any harm. With a glance at the soldier to make sure he was looming within reach of her, he dismissed her presence.

"It's going to be okay. Just listen to me." She stopped, because suddenly Superman shuddered and his grip was tightened on her hand—and it would have been painfully so, had he not already been so weakened. Logram had pressed the needle into his thigh and was working it deeper through skin and muscle. Blood welled up around the needle's hole. Clark gasped, sweat breaking out all over as he pulled instinctively away—straining at the bindings that held him down.

"Superman!" Lois knelt down, gripping his hand back as she leaned close to his face and cupped his tightened jaw. It took all of her willpower and more not to turn around and attack the doctor as he pried around in Superman's flesh, but she couldn't. She would lose him, else. Pain so intense it was almost physical lanced through her heart. "It's going to be over soon. Just hold on."

He gasped again, letting out a soft cry of pain as he twitched with a violent flinch. Lois grasped his hand tightly, her hand shaking as she ran her fingers gently down his sweating face. He grit his teeth, clearly trying to be strong for Lois's sake, but a groan set deep in his throat edged it's way out, ending in another desperate almost-scream as Logram twisted the needle in his leg. Lois couldn't help it—she looked back at the doctor.

"What's taking so long?" she asked, her voice shaking at the sight of Superman's suffering.

"His bone structure is still strangely dense," Logram murmured, moving the needle as if feeling for something deep within Superman's leg. Superman choked on something that sounded like a sob. Blood covered Logram's white gloves, now. He glanced briefly at the mouse-looking doctor, who was hovering nearby with a nervous air. "I'm going to need the kryptonite, I think, Matthews."

The nervous man nodded and bumbled forward, drawing from a drawer the carefully-wrapped kryptonite.

"No!" Lois cried.

"You want to save him pain, Miss Lane?" Logram snapped. "The kryptonite will only make this easier." He nodded at Dr. Matthews, who hesitated only a moment before opening the bag and clumsily dropping the glowing stone into his hands.

The change was horrific. Lois had seen the effects of kryptonite on Superman before, but combined with the already-present pain it was too much for him fight, even with Lois beside him.

Superman choked on a scream, straining against the bonds. Blood swelled at the needle's entry point and began soaking the blue tight leg a dark purple. Logram swore, grabbing some towels and pressing them around his leg to catch the blood flow. He gestured for Matthews. "Hold the crystal close here. And hand me that scalpel."

Matthews brought the crystal forward, casting a sickly green light over Superman's bright suit and blood.

Lois leaned forward, slipping her hand from his quivering grip and putting both hands on the sides of his face. Tears dripped from her eyes onto his face, mingling with the sweat of anguish that beaded his brow. His skin was cold, every muscle tight with agony.

"Superman," Lois whispered as Logram took the scalpel from Matthews. "Superman, hang on. It will be all right. It's almost over."

"L-L-Lois…" he gasped out. He inhaled sharply as Matthews rested the kryptonite on his knee burning him through his suit. He swore, breathing out a ragged, broken prayer. "Lo-is…"

"I'm here," Lois said brokenly. "I'm here, Superman."

Clark choked as he struggled against the pain and the shaking of his body for air.

Behind her, Logram took the scalpel and cut deep into Superman's leg.

TBC...

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	9. Life is Pain

If you read the last chapter and you're still reading this, then you don't need any more warnings .

Thanks for all the reviews. This is still my first fic, and the reviews certainly are helping me overcome my uncertainty here. I'm very flattered that so many of your positive comments and that you're enjoying the story and my writing so far. You completely make my day. Thank you.

This is a shorter chapter, but hopefully it will still be good. Yes?

And Jessi--thanks for the further permission ;)

Don't forget to review!

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(From Chapter 8):

"I'm here," Lois said brokenly. "I'm here, Superman."

Clark choked as he struggled against the pain and the shaking of his body for air.

Behind her, Logram took the scalpel and cut deep into Superman's leg.

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Chapter 9: Life is Pain (Anyone Who Says Otherwise is Selling Something)

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"Lois!" Superman screamed out her name as he arched against his restraints.

"Shut him up!" Logram shouted over the hoarse cry. Matthews looked around, flustered; most of the clean cloths that had been on the table were now nested around Superman's leg, quickly soaking with his blood.

Matthews grabbed one that was clean but for a dark stain in the corner from Clark's blood. Superman's scream had already died—he didn't have enough air in his lungs to go on long, but as Logram cut deeper the superhero gasped an almost breathless scream. Matthews looked uncertain for a moment, then with a glance at Logram he moved forward to press the cloth into Superman's mouth, moving to clutch his jaw to force his mouth open.

Lois realized what he intended and jerked to her feet, standing over Superman like a looming storm ready to strike down with death and destruction on any unwise enough to not to flee for cover.

"What do you think you are doing?" she spat like a spitting feline. A very big, angry feline, which was near pressed to insanity at the moment from her raging fury and helplessness. Superman screamed harshly again and she clenched her hands to keep from dropping down beside him again—holding him, whispering and pleading for him to be all right, for him to know that she was there for him.

But she could not allow this. She pulled every ounce of her Mad-Dog Lois Lane persona together and leaned forward. Her expression was terrifying even as her eyes were stained from tears of inner torment—or perhaps even more so. She was drawing the line here, if she had to use this little doctor's blood to mark its place.

The short doctor quailed under her gaze, taking the rag and wringing it between his sweating hands as he took a step back. Lois wanted to flay him—to rip him to shreds with her fingernails. Her fingers actually curled as she was tempted to do just that despite the guard that was now standing right behind her like a shadow in the dark.

Lois actually started towards him, and the guard's hand clasped around her arm painfully. She turned towards him, ready to unleash her fury on him, but at that moment both the soldier and the mousy doctor were saved as Superman began to cry beneath her protective wings, his voice too spent to make any stronger sound.

Anger banished by an overwhelming pain that pierced straight to her heart, Lois immediately let her fist drop and tried to pull away from the guard. When he didn't let her go she twisted her arm out of his grip—careless of the bruises it surely caused her—and dropped down to kneel at Superman's side, clutching his shoulder with one hand as she reached to his face with her other.

"Superman, Superman," she called his name. She kissed his pale brow, his cold cheeks…his trembling chin, murmuring his name. She closed her eyes and huddled close to Superman, listening to his weakening gasps for air, at the faint whimper that he couldn't stop but couldn't give manifest as a full cry as the blood loss and kryptonite took its toll on his battered body. She couldn't do anything. She couldn't move, she could fight…all she could was hold on to him and do nothing. It was the helplessness—the inability to do _anything_—that made it all too much for her. Lois buried her face in his neck and cried.

She didn't even notice as Logram placed a vial dark with blood both inside and out on a tray. She didn't look up as the kryptonite was taken away and placed back within the bag and the green light vanished, leaving only the white rags and blinding light that were stained deep with the color red like splattered blood on freshly-fallen snow.

Her mind was too far in white shock for her to notice when Logram finished stitching up the rough cut on Superman's leg and bound it tightly—only how Superman's breathing hitched again at pain the movement caused—and she clung to him tighter. She didn't notice how the blood immediately swept through the bandages like a red wave over white sand, and how Logram swore and bound it with more layers. She didn't notice as Logram turned away, wiping his bloodied hands on the last towel that Matthews had meant to gag Superman with.

She only knew how she couldn't move. She couldn't fight. She had to stay still. And she was aware of him. Of how his body lay limply, too spent to brace itself against the pain. Of how his eyes were squeezed shut, of how his hands had clenched so tightly so that his fingernails broke the skin of his palms and he bled. Of how his tears began to dry on his face even as the whimpers in his throat faded into soundless, tearless shuddering sobs that shook his weakened frame. Of the whimper that caught in his throat as they pulled the wound closed and began to stitch it shut.

They called to her, told her she needed to stand—that they were taking Superman back to the white room. She didn't hear them, only felt the cruel hands that tried to pry her away from him—the only other living being in this vague and faded world. She fought, but it was weak and animalic—without skill or even logical goal, and they easily overcame her. They held her back from Superman as they wheeled the bed in front of her, and her legs moved mechanically—though she leaned unconsciously forward so that the guard was half-carrying her as they stepped out the door, down the hall, and into the white room.

All she had eyes for was him.

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TBC...

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	10. What's in a Name?

I don't have time to say much besides the chapter this morning; school just exploded in my face and I'm just glad I have these chapters already written so I can post them and run.

Thank you all again for your reviews!!! I hope you all are still enjoying this. It would be nice to know what any lurkers out there think! nudge, nudge

Enjoy!

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Chapter 10: What's in a Name?

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The guards placed Superman on the bed relatively carefully, mindful of the new large bandage that was pressed tightly against his thigh. They stepped back, and the guard holding a weak-looking Lois let her go. They left.

"L-lois…" Superman's weak voice called her name like a frightened child.

Lois didn't answer at first, but stood there in the middle of the white room, shaking.

"Lo-is."

His broken voice—not even a whisper—reached like the warmth of a distant, cloud-covered sun into the dark veils of her shocked mind. She blinked.

"Lois…please…" A hitched breath, almost like a sob, but not strong enough. A weak oath, like a prayer…

Lois came to herself slowly, blinking as the white terror slowly faded to…more white. White walls, white ceilings…white light…And Superman's white face—his eyes open no more than half-way, as if the light pained him.

Lois blinked again. Screams. White screams, filled with white, blinding pain. His pain…her pain. Pain so deep in her heart that she was somewhat surprised to find there wasn't a gaping hole in her chest as she brought a numbed hand over her heart. White nothing—and red…red…red. There should be red all over her hands, the red of his cape—like pooling blood that flowed in the sky behind him when he flew…or puddled beneath him as he wept red tears…all of it illuminated by that terrible, horrid green. She shuddered, digging her fingers into her pant legs to wipe them off—to clean them of the red that had sunk beneath her skin.

"Lois, p-please….s-say s-something…"

Superman.

Her mind let out a prayerful oath—even in her head it was breathless and thin.

Superman. But no—she couldn't move. She couldn't move or they'd take him away…take her away. She couldn't. She couldn't. She shook her head wordlessly.

"Th-they're g-gone, L-ois…"

Reality crashed down on her like a ton of bricks. Her legs gave out behind her and she fell to the floor, shaking.

"L-Lois!" his voice shook on a weak cry…and he twitched in a seemingly inborn sense to rise and help her…to make sure she was okay. But the twitch was all he could manage—and even that made him cut of in pain as consciousness swam before his eyes like a tempting darkness.

It was the gasp of pain brought on by that instinct that finally brought Lois out of her state of shock. "Superman," she whispered. "Superman!"

She crawled forward—her legs shaking to badly to risk her standing again. She swore tearfully, crawling to kneel at his side.

"I'm here, Superman." She grabbed his hand and leaned over him, her tears falling onto the neck of his suit. "I'm sorry, Superman. I'm so sorry. I—I…" Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and haunted.

"Lois." Superman's voice was so soft she had to lean forward to hear, but the edge of panic from the moment before was gone. Lois was there. She was looking at him, touching him—her eyes and hands a balm, unlike the others'. "I…I…I w-was flying…ar—around…M-Metropolis," he stuttered around his staggering breath, "and…I—I heard this c-cry for h-help." He stopped to swallow; it pained his scream-bloodied throat to speak. "It was this old…this old man. A sc-sc-scrooge, r-really…Wouldn't let them s-set a foot on his y-yard. Some…some k-kids had s-set up a…p-prank—t-trapped his front d-door…so when he o-opened it he'd be…c-covered in fl-fl-flour and w-water. Th-they st-started pl-playing on his lawn, and he came storming…storming out only to be d-doused from head to foot in white s-sop. He-he started sc-screaming—r-really furious, y-you kn-know."

His shivers were growing worse as he spoke, but he seemed determined to finish this. "I c-came, th-thinking it was…was some sort of—f-fire, or…murder…The k-kids w-were terr—terrified. Th-thought th-that if S-Superman came th-they w-were in real—really big t-trouble. J-just froze th-there…wh-ite as snow—snowmen…frozen. I-I've never seen any-anyone so ter-terrified." He shuddered involuntarily, but pressed on, though his voice was growing weaker until it was little more than a mumble. Lois struggled to understand him. "Th-there w-wasn't anything for…for me to do, s-so I j-just l-left. But this…this old m-man…e-every s-so often I'll—I'll hear him sh-shouting f-for S-Superman to—to come get th-these k-kids off his lawn. It-it makes th-them scurry away s-so f-fast you…you wouldn't believe…it…" He actually chuckled—a rough, weak husk of a laugh that dissolved into coughs and shuddering breaths leaden with pain.

Lois stared at him, tears welling in her eyes again that she couldn't stop. She put her hands over her face and swore tearfully. He was losing it.

"Lois," Superman whispered. A shaking, slightly blood-smeared hand brushed against hers, and his cold fingers curled around her own. She looked down at him, seeing how terrible he looked—his eyes slightly sunken and dark against his stark-pale face. Tears and sweat mingled together, even as his shivers began to rise from the chill that seemed to infuse his body. But he was looking at her through that veil of helplessness, confusion, and pain…concerned for her. Terrified for her. Torn deeper than the flesh by her pain. "It—it's funny, Lois. You were supposed to…to laugh. Not—not c-cry."

His hand began slipping away—too weak to hold it up for long, but Lois clutched it and held it next to her heart, his words breaking a floodgate and causing a new shower of tears to drench her cheeks as she sobbed.

Superman's breath hitched. He had no control over his body, it seemed, and at Lois's second breakdown the darkness settled down around him all the more. A shuddering sob shook his frame, but it seemed as if he had shed all his tears already. His eyes stung, but he couldn't cry. He hurt too much to cry.

"Oh, Superman," Lois's voice was thick. "I don't know how Logram could ever doubt that you had a heart." She bent down and kissed him—brushing her tear-damp lips across his, though it lingered for a moment longer than a simple thank you. Tears from her own eyes dripped to mix with his as they held each other, broken in the pure cold light of the white room.

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Lois jerked awake from a nightmare of harsh red and terrible green and white sounds of screams of agony. She tried to sit up, shaking and feeling damp tears on her face again, but a gentle hand rested on her shoulder and she looked over to see Superman lying beside her on the floor, turned the slightest bit so that he could reach her. "Lois. It was a dream, Lois. You're…you're okay."

Lois took a moment to slow her terrified thoughts and nodded, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself. She sat up, wiping the tears from her face almost angrily—since when was Lois Lane a leaky faucet?—and looked back at him. He looked perhaps even worse than before they had fallen to sleep. His expression was pale, yet somehow…empty. As if in the last procedure the doctors had somehow removed a part of his soul. Guilt alone shadowed his eyes like a shroud, and he avoided her gaze almost fearfully.

Lois didn't ask permission. She didn't allow him to pull away. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close but gentle as she rested her head on his chest and felt the weak tremors that still shook his body. Her breath changed to match the shaking breath of the man she held and she closed her eyes, forgetting, for a moment, the dreams that were their lives. Everything that was was them.

It seemed a lifetime before either of them broke the silence. "Superman," Lois began softly. She paused, tilting her head slightly to look up into his pain-shadowed face. "It seems, after all this…" She paused, and her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. "What…what is your name? I mean, it seems kind of…silly for me to be calling you a name that I made for you when we're…like this."

Superman's expression was humorless as he shifted. His eyes were bleak. "I guess I'm not so super anymore, huh?" he whispered weakly.

Lois's heart clenched. Her words were firm. "Of course you are," she emphasized, though her words broke with unshed tears. "It's not your powers that make you who you are, Superman. I mean, instead of coming to save us, you could have done anything you want with nobody to stop you." She took a deep breath and gently put her hand on the side of his face. "It's what's inside that makes you Superman. It's your compassion, your selflessness, your caring. That's what makes you Superman. And that's what makes you more human than anyone else I've ever known, no matter what biology says."

A single tear beaded at the edge of Superman's eye and dripped down his temple to touch her palm on his face. He shut his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath.

"Lois, I'm…I'm C..." His voice was thick, and he paused to clear his throat. He opened his eyes and they were unwillingly drawn upwards to see the ever-present camera perched like an emotionless eye over the door. No…he could not tell her, even now. His parents were still out there…vulnerable. He began to shiver again. "Cl…K—Kal-El. My name is Kal-El." It was a name he had only heard once; it had been whispered to him when he first touched his globe from his spaceship, along with the name of his home planet.

Lois bent over him, brushing a light kiss over his chilled brow. "Kal-El," she murmured, her hand moving to brush gently through his hair. "Go to sleep, Kal. We'll get out of here, I promise."

Superman managed a weak smile—but not one of hope. It was a knowing smile as if he saw right through her and knew how empty her words were, but that was aware of how hard it was for her to keep up her hope—to keep believing. He loved her so much his heart ached with the conflicting ties of his despair.

"Thank you, Lois," he whispered, closing his eyes as he forgot everything but the caring touch of her warm hand on his face.

TBC...


	11. Life is but a Waking Dream

Here you go. Enjoy. Please remember to review.

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Chapter 11: Life is but a Waking Dream

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Superman slept, too exhausted and weak to even dream.

Lois didn't feel much better. Her eyes were heavy, but every time her eyelids slid shut the images would come back to her. She would wake up with a start, her heart beating away frantically as she looked around, but there was nothing but the white room, and on the bed, a sleeping Superman. Or maybe he had lapsed into unconsciousness. From the shallow, hoarse sound of his breath she couldn't tell.

She must have dozed off eventually, however, because she was awoken from the rising horror of a nightmare from the beeping of the door as it opened.

Lois was on her feet before she knew it—standing between Superman and the door as she leaped from one nightmare to another.

Oh, no. Not again. Not so soon. Lois's watch showed only a few bare hours had passed—it was close to six in the evening. Behind her Superman had frozen. He had been laying there for some time floating between waking and sleep in a white void of thoughtlessness, watching Lois sleep. He had wanted to move to wake her when he had seen her begin to flinch in the beginnings of a nightmare, but she was out of his good arm's reach, and he lacked the present strength to rise and go to her.

When the guard had come in everything had flown out the open door faster than even his normal super-speed. Panic settled in like a white cloud, and he lay there, petrified.

A guard moved in slightly, carrying the tray holding their supper. The man looked at her, looked at Superman, shook his head, and left the tray without a word.

Lois let her shoulder's fall. She let her hands unclench, let herself feel the trembling of her arms. Superman began to breathe again behind her. Even as she relaxed, the door opened again and Logram stepped in.

Lois froze stock-still, and Superman went completely still in mid-breath.

He glanced at Superman, then actually smiled at Lois. "Ah. Good afternoon." He pulled in a cart after him, and Lois stepped back as she saw the clean needle lying on the metal surface. Lois felt as if her heart might explode in her chest.

Logram looked at them again, seemingly realized that neither of them had breathed since he entered the room. He smiled again, even as he gestured two guards to follow him in, as if either of the room's occupants was in the position to put up a fight. Though Lois looked ready to try.

Logram took another step and Lois jerked forward, planting herself directly in his path with a stance that shouted, 'I am not moving,' though her face was pale and her small frame looked laughable before the three large men.

The doctor actually looked tired. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Gentlemen, if you could please help Miss Lane to the side. This is getting…bothersome."

Of course, shouldn't take two men to take the little lady. After shrugging at each other one of the soldiers stepped forward. Lois was sick and tired of being the helpless bystander; she didn't wait before swinging her leg up for a hefty kick, and though the man blocked it she was already springing in with her fists and teeth ready to fight—to the death, if it could keep these men away from Superman…Kal-El.

She heard a satisfying grunt as she butted her head against the man's face, making blood spring from his nose like a broken faucet. A heavy fist struck Lois on the side of the head and the lights flashed. She hit the ground hard, but even before she had a chance to register the new bruises hard fingers dug into her arm and lifted her, holding her in a body-bind despite her fruitless struggles.

She swore at them. "You monsters! Don't touch him! Superman! Kal-El!"

Superman was laying there, too weak to move, but his eyes grew wide in sheer terror as he watched Logram step forward. The doctor leaned down, calmly took hold of Superman's good arm and twisted it to clean the inside of his elbow again. Superman flinched away from his touch, his breath growing more frantic, but Logram's grip was unyielding.

He sank the needle into Superman's arm, then perfunctorily drew the syringe full of blood and set it aside. He drew two more before pulling off his white gloves and pushing the cart back towards the door.

He glanced back at Lois, who was still straining, and then at Superman.

"See? That wasn't so bad was it?" He gave a crooked smile. The guard holding Lois pushed her roughly away from the door and followed Logram and his injured co-soldier out.

The door locked with a beep.

Lois had fallen to the floor with the last shove, but she stood up quickly, glancing at the drops of the guard's blood that had fallen on the white floor, further tarnishing their clean habitat.

She moved to Superman's side and looked down on him, taking his hand automatically.

"Kal-El?"

He looked faintly green. "I—I think I'm going to be s-sick," he said, his voice strained.

Lois looked about frantically, her eyes quickly settling on the bowls that held the newest mixture of liquid and lumps. She grabbed one bowl, dumped it clean over the other one so that it overflowed and the broth slopped over the side and onto the tray. She whirled around, holding the bowl beside Superman just in time.

It wasn't pretty. Superman didn't have much to lose—he hadn't eaten much lunch, and his appetite had been steadily dwindling meal-by-meal, but still he heaved and lost whatever little he had managed to keep in his stomach thus far. He continued to heave even once that was gone, and Lois held him up, rubbing her hand along his shaking shoulders—over the red cape that had become so well known.

She vaguely noticed the zipper she could feel beneath the red fabric, and was surprised to find that it was a much rougher material than she would have thought. Of course, she didn't really know what she had expected—some sort of invincible material, or something, but this just felt…normal. Like some polyester or nylon mix. The kind you can pick up at the fabric store across the street from the grocery store.

Lois shook her head at herself. Her mind was tired—frantic, and exhausted from the constant state of adrenaline and fear—and seemed to be running off on even more tangents than usual.

Superman seemed finished—he hung limply in her arms like a dead fish, but quivering, and Lois gently helped turn him so he was lying back down.

"S-sorry," Clark gasped, shaking from the exertion.

He didn't look like he could hold up under a Mad-Dog glare, and Lois honestly didn't feel like giving one right then. She just stood up, flushed the bowls contents down the drain, washed her hands, and then came back with a cup of water.

"Here," she said, sitting down and beginning to lift his head again.

"I-I'm all right," Clark murmured, licking his lips.

"Be quiet," Lois said, softly, but still Clark flinched slightly. She didn't have the energy to deal with this right now. Her own hands were shaking. "Just drink it."

He did, albeit it was only a little bit. Lois soothed his brow with the tear from her pant leg that she had used to bring down his fever…was it only two nights ago? It felt like a lifetime ago. Now his forehead was just cold, despite the sweat that had broken out in the wake of his fear.

She was surprised to find that his head wound had broken open again, and dried blood ran thick down the back of his head, so the white sheets of the bed were stained a dark red, fading out to a pink like a tie-dyed shirt from the eighties. She dabbed at it gently, brushing his hair from his eyes as he seemed insistent on doing, though it seemed to pain him…even with his good arm, she noted, having noticed a flinch earlier when he had reached up his left arm to try and plaster his hair back.

Suspicious, she reached down, turning his good arm slowly to see the inside of his elbow. Her stomach clenched as she saw the mottled bruises from the needles there—little red pin-pricks surrounded by a small yet angry circle of deep blue-black from the sharp metal's cruel intrusion. Some of the bruises were so close that they overlapped. Logram had not been gentle, and the three newest bruises we leaking small drops of blood.

She wiped at those, wincing with Superman as she brushed gently against the bruises. She noted that the arm cast was near half-soaked with blood now—a good deal of it new—and it was leaving a faint stain across Superman's suit where his arm rested. But there was nothing to be done about that.

The kryptonite must have done it, Lois realized. The effect of the crystal must have caused the wounds to break right open. By all that's good, she thought. What did it _do_ to him?

He was even paler than before, and Lois was increasingly concerned about loss of blood. She didn't feel hungry, but nonetheless she lifted the tray and filled one of the spoons with some broth.

"Kal-El?"

Clark winced slightly at the use of his birth name. He wanted to tell her the truth. She deserved the truth. But he couldn't. Not here, not now. Maybe never.

He didn't feel hungry. He felt…weak. Sapped of his strength beyond even the power of kryptonite. He felt ill, but even the rolling of his stomach felt sluggish.

"I'm not very hungry right now, Lois," he said, his voice a rough, painful rumble.

"I don't think either of us is," Lois said. Then, hesitantly, "Come on, Kal. You need it."

He acquiesced only in hopes of soothing the dark worry in Lois's eyes. His stomach could only bear so much, however. Lois set aside the bowl, taking none for herself. Clark noted this.

"What about you?"

Lois gave a slight shrug. "I'm not hungry either, but I—I don't have anything to recover from."

Superman's expression wasn't satisfied. In fact, he looked like he was about to try and feed her himself, if she didn't change her mind, even though his breathing was labored just laying there, as he was. Lois rolled her eyes, picked up the bowl, and put a spoonful of the soup in her mouth.

"There, happy?"

Clark managed a small smile, just for her.

TBC...


	12. A Leaking Battery

I'm bored, I have to run to the store, and I just realized that I have more of Darkest Dreams that I have written and not posted then that which I have written and posted. So this is to fix that.

Wow, that sounds confusing.

Either way, I feel like getting this plot on the road, so here's another chapter. It's another shortie, though, so I feel somewhat excused.

Thanks for those who reviewed. Please continue to do so. For those that didn't review... gets down on knees and begs

Enjoy,

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Chapter 12: A Leaking Battery

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Superman must have been too exhausted to have nightmares, or at least Lois slept too deeply through the night to be woken by his weakened mumbles and cries. She herself woke up in a cold sweat, shivering with memories of desperate screams and that terrible, desperate helplessness that she had had to place upon herself. She couldn't get back to sleep.

The morning passed uneventfully. Superman ate little despite Lois's urgings, and was so weak that he barely managed to rise into a sitting position with Lois's help, and even then his head spun and he was soon forced to lie back down. He dozed off to sleep shortly after his meager breakfast of creamy cereal laced with a couple raspberries that Lois had slipped into his bowl, and Lois had followed into a restless sleep.

Logram came in just after breakfast, waking them unpleasantly. He drew three more vials of blood in the same quick manner before leaving. Clark wasn't sick this time, but instead just lay there, still and pale as a rag doll. The guards hadn't given Lois a chance to stay by him—both of them had grabbed her before she had even had a chance to think about fighting them. They had come in, taken the blood samples, and left them just like that.

Superman didn't get better.

They still spoke, but not like before. Not so constantly or light-heartedly. Mostly they just sat there—there was more between them than words could convey. Minutes stretched into hours of silence, though much of that time Superman slept, exhausted from the ordeal and loss of blood. Lois urged food on him whenever he woke, and he ate enough that Lois was satisfied, but his appearance didn't improve. In fact, he seemed to be weakening. His hand was growing colder and colder, his body more still, and it terrified Lois to death.

That evening Logram came in again, and Lois was frazzled enough from Superman's despondent appearance that she spoke up to Logram, forcing herself away from the rising panic—forcing her eyes away from Superman's shaking body.

"What are you doing?" Lois demanded. "You're bleeding him dry. He's lost enough already, and soon he's not going to have any more to give, at this rate. Don't you have enough already?"

"Quite the contrary, Miss Lane," Logram replied, and his voice was troubled. "The blood tests are for his own good."

Lois openly scoffed at that. "'For his own good'," she repeated with a half-crazed laugh. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

Logram actually looked irritated at that. "It's really quite simple," he said shortly. "From the blood tests and from his further weakening strength. Your alien friend is slowly yet surely starving to death—at the molecular level, his cells are beginning to fail from lack of energy."

"That's impossible," Lois snapped, though it softened as she looked at Superman lying there…so pale. "I've been making sure he eats…he may be sick now and again, and he's weak from what you're doing to him, but he still eats enough…" Surely, out of all things, starving to death was one of the least of his problems. But…there was too much uncertainty there. Who knew how much Superman usually ate?

"It may be a number of factors," murmured Logram distractedly, tapping his pen on his clipboard as he scanned over the data. "It could be that Earthly food does not have all of the nutrients necessary to sustain his metabolism, but as he has not been able to be damaged since arriving here he has not required any further nutrients other than that which he already had. Or it could be that it's just making itself manifest now, after a number of months, or a combination of these effects. However, we haven't found any elements in the samples we've taken that are not also necessary for the human metabolism. It must be something else."

He turned to Superman. "What does your diet usually consist of?"

Clark tensed involuntarily. It was the first time the doctor had actually addressed him directly, and his stomach clenched so tight that he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would be sick. His face paled as he stared at the doctor, seemingly petrified.

The doctor didn't look patient, even with the terrified expression that appeared on Superman's face. He looked ready to turn to more drastic means to get his answer, but Lois stepped forward.

"I'll ask him," she said. She sat down beside Superman, clasping his hand in hers. "Look at me," she said firmly. Clark was still frozen, so she reached forward and forcibly turned his face towards her. His eyes slowly focused on her face, turning away from his inner nightmares, and he blinked, coming to himself as if from a great distance. He inhaled sharply, having not realized that he was holding his breath.

"Lois."

"Superman," she said, her voice still somewhat firm—meant to catch the attention of his mind and not let the fear overcome him again. "What did you eat before you came here? You know, when you were hungry."

Clark furrowed his brow. "I—I didn't get hungry," he said.

Lois blinked. "I thought you said you ate."

Clark stared at her, his mind gibbering in near panic. He wasn't _from_ Krypton, he wanted to explain—not in the way that it mattered. He didn't know any more about it than they did, and in his mind he was as human as anyone. He thought like a human, acted like a human, _felt_ like a human…

The doctor shifted slightly, and panic rose to a new height, but Lois's eyes had caught his like flies on flypaper, and it anchored him. He was brought out of the rising clamor of increasingly terrified thoughts as she tightened her hand over his. He took a shuddering breath.

"Yes," he decided to say. After all, he had used to get hungry, when he was younger. "But I didn't r-really need to."

Logram stared at him. "But with the energy expenditure we have estimated..." He scribbled something on his charts furiously. "Energy cannot be created or destroyed. _So where was it coming from_?" He looked at Lois, and then Superman. "Right now he's like a leaking battery, Miss Lane, and we don't know how to recharge him. If he's hiding anything from us, it would be for his own interest that we know. Is that understood?"

He thought they were hiding something. Or, at least, he thought Superman was hiding something. But considering his mental state, Lois could see right through him, and she knew that Kal-El was just as confused by his body's deterioration as the rest of them.

TBC...


	13. To the End

Special thanks to Saavikam and Shado over at the Planet Forum for suggestions about a certain camera and the issue of Superman's suit…

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Chapter 13: To the End

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"Here," Lois lifted a spoonful of soup up and held it towards him, her hand more or less steady. Superman lay completely limp and pale on the bed. His skin was clammy and cold, not matter how much Lois tried to warm him. He looked at her bleakly, then turned his face away. It was a day after that visit by Logram, and Superman had only gone downhill, and his spirit along with his ebbing physical strength.

"Lois…I c-can't."

"Superman, you have to eat," Lois urged, still bringing the spoon closer. She actually brushed the warm spoon against his lips, leaving a drop of moisture there, but he didn't open his mouth. His eyes were half-shut—like a dying animal—though his eyes still followed her face wearily as if it were all that tied him down to reality. His breathing was rough and forced—every gulp of air sounded like a struggle for life itself.

"It—doesn't matter, Lois. You…you heard Logram." Superman said in his increasingly weakened voice. Clark shuddered. Despair hung over him like a black cloak in the white room. Just as terrifying as his physical weakness was the increasing mist he was beginning to feel in his mind. Minutes would pass and he wasn't sure what had happened—or maybe the time was longer. He didn't have a watch, and wouldn't have had the strength to check it even if he did. He was half dead already, and he knew it—distantly, surreally, and the irony was that the only thing that told him he was alive and not floating in that veil beyond death was the constant, thrumbing pain. And Lois. Oh, Lois. He would have died already if not for her.

But maybe it was better this way, that it should end this soon. At least it wouldn't drag out long. "B-ut at least it will be over. You have to promise me, Lois…p-promise me that you'll…go back to your life. Forget all about m-me, if you need to. Th-this…it's just a bad d-dream. You need to…to wake up and let it go." He hated how his words slurred together, like a drunk. But he'd never been drunk. He couldn't get drunk. He was an alien, and so alcohol didn't affect him. He shivered.

Lois looked at him for a moment, darkness and the terrible memories that were stored behind her eyes building up like an angry wave. She stood suddenly and threw the bowl of soup at the clean wall with a scream resounding with anger, desperation, and helplessness. She stood there for a moment, quivering with long-suppressed emotion, the only sound in the room the dripping of the soup down the once-white wall to pool on the floor.

Lois's eyes were anguished and full of tears, but she was too tired and angry to let them fall. She didn't turn to look at him.

"What do you think I am?" Lois's voice was heartbreakingly soft. "I have told you that you're as much of a human as it could possibly matter, but…_I_ am a human too. I can't just…turn off my heart, erase my mind and say, forget this—it doesn't matter. Kal-El, it wouldn't matter if they did let me go…" A single tear fell onto her cheek. "I—I can't live through this without you. This nightmare has become the only real life I have ever known—everything else has become a dream. You have become my only reality, and if you let go…there won't be anything left." She finally turned, tears trailing down her face. "I—I can't go through this alone. I…I can't go through this without you."

"Lois…"

Lois sat down beside him again, gently putting her fingers over his lips to silence him.

"I don't want any apologies, flyboy. I don't want any excuses, further explanations, or rationalizations for me to leave if they'll let me. We're in this together, no matter what." She traced his jaw with her fingertips.

"But if…when I die…"

"Don't talk like that."

"When I die, Lois," Clark insisted, his heart heavy. "You must know by now that there's no chance we're getting out of here—not both of us, anyway—alive." He was just sorry it had to be so soon. There was so much he had left to see…so much he had left to do, and his parents…

And his body. No doubt they really would cut it open like a frog, in the end. He swallowed, feeling a weak rise of bile in his throat, and the white wall of terror rising up where he had shoved it behind the white mist in his mind. When Lois spoke it pulled back once again.

"This is something beyond the 'till death do you part,' Kal-El," Lois said. And she knew it. He was expecting death, now. But Lois knew that if he died, it didn't matter if Logram kept his promise and let her go, she would never be able to go back living. Something had happened. She knew the man behind the suit, now, and she realized she loved him. Loved him so much that the childish fetish she had had with his adopted character—Superman—was like a piece of paper beside a steel wall reinforced a thousand times over. The time here had been horrible, and if she could she would that she could wake up and have this all be a terrible nightmare, but as it were she knew that there was no where she would rather be than here, at Kal-El's side. For him.

Clark sighed. She didn't understand. The stress and oppression of this place was as much of a torture for her as it was for him. He could see it in her shadowed, scared eyes, in the dark circles that testified of little restful sleep, of the bruise that now discolored her right cheek from where the guard had struck her. From the careful way she moved he didn't doubt that she had other bruises from their rough handling.

She was being drawn to him because of that fear and oppression. Everyone in this world felt like the bad guys, and so here she was, overestimating her own dependence on him, because there was no one else, here. She could move on without him. She had to.

He looked over at the smear of soup across the wall. Together with the dark and flaking blood that smattered across the floor from the soldier's bloody nose the night before, it was the beginning of something beautiful. The Art of Lois Lane's Fury. No doubt people would come from all corners of the world to see it, if it were ever to be discovered by someone who could let it see the light of day.

"I started working at the Daily Planet when I was 18, Superma—Kal-El," Lois began. "It consumed my life. Sure, I went on some dates, even had a couple relationships, but…well…the closest I had to a friend these six years was my sister, Lucy, and…we don't even get along that well." She moved forward to take his hand—he wasn't looking at her. "Superman, until you came along…my life was work. I mean, if I disappeared…I suppose my family might notice, and Perry…but that's it. No one really cared, you know?"

"You're a good man, Superman. Besides saving my life…a few times…you're…you're _Superman_. You're selfless, brave, heroic…kind, and….you have a sense of humor even in the worst of times. And without you…there's nothing. I can't go back to that."

_Yes you can, Lois,_ Clark thought, but was wise enough to keep the thought to himself. He knew how strong she was, now more than ever. She could do it. She could live, even after this journey to the boundary of darkness and death. She had to.

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It was a week after their capture. The days blurred after those first few days of pain and terror, fading together like the details of a dream that slips away as one looks back after coming to wakefulness. Superman grew weaker, almost in a comatose state, hardly eating, and sleeping almost all the time. They hooked him up to an IV in hopes of improvement, and it slowed his steady decent into nothingness, but nothing more.

They had continued taking blood samples, but even those had grown fewer and farther between as if the doctors could feel the falling doom upon the room and were hesitant to increase the shadow's fall. Lois was slowly being driven mad by inactivity and helplessness. She sat on Kal-El's bedside over most of the days, watching the slow _drip, drip, drip_ of the IV as it marked the passing seconds, minutes, hours, and days.

Yet within this fading dream of existence there were some few moments of clarity. Of Lois, telling Superman about some of her wilder moments as a forward, eldest child—of her first story at the Daily Planet, and the flying moments that had given her the Kerths that she had once kept with such fierce pride. Of Clark, managing a feeble laughing despite himself as he heard tale of one of Lois's more foolish and stubborn moments, as she got herself into trouble and was able to pull away at the luck of the draw.

Of him, trying to tell some stories of his own. Strange ones and humorous ones to try to cheer her up, but his voice was weak the air oppressive, and even laughter was quickly stifled in the heavy air.

Of Lois, finally getting frustrated and standing to rant and yell at the camera that she needed something more to take care of the superhero—new sheets, washcloths, a basin, and preferably some new clothes for the both of them. They delivered them with the next meal, leaving Lois to struggle to move a pain-weakened Superman onto the floor while she changed the sheets and then back onto them again. However, they didn't bring the new clothes.

So she had stood in front of the camera and stared at it, feeling like an idiot despite her fury. The spandex suit was filthy and gave Kal-El little warmth. But they didn't bring that to her after her continued demands, only a brief explanation.

They didn't want him to be confused as a human. So the suit was staying—to remind him, to remind her, to remind the people behind that soulless camera and to remind the world…that he was an alien, and thus not to be pitied.

Didn't work for Lois, of course. It just made her angrier.

Lois told him about Claude—about her terrible history with men and her distrust for them in general, which was even increased, now. She assured him he wasn't included—in that way he was most un-human, because all human men were idiots—and because Lois was sure that no one on Earth could ever be as pure as Kal-El and still live as a man.

Clark told her about the first time he had failed at a rescue—an apartment had been caught up in furious flames, and though he had rushed to the scene as soon as he could, a mother and two small children had been caught inside. By the time he had found them it was too late. He hadn't even told his parents about how it had felt to carry their limp and charred bodies from the ruin of their home—to see the tearful, broken face of the husband and father, who was now so terribly, awfully alone in the world.

They shared their short tales, shared their sorrow, shared the little gems of connection and calm that glimmered like stars amidst a pitch-black sky and became increasingly more rare. And they drifted in silence, not doing anything, not thinking—no, thinking meant realizing what they had lost, and what more there may be to come. Thinking meant fearing. So they didn't think, not really. They existed.

It was a week and a day after the first night at the compound when Logram entered in and stayed longer than was usual than his perfunctory visit. Lois was held away from him in usual precaution. Though she had automatically taken the stance between him and Superman when he had entered, she had not fought. There was no use anyway, right now. She was waiting…waiting. Waiting for an opportunity that felt as distant as the moon in a cloud-filtered sky. She couldn't even tell where it might peek out through the thick clouds, if ever.

Logram checked the IV and changed the wrappings on Superman's arm and leg.

Lois quivered. There was something more here behind these men's presences today, though she could say what. The thick white air seemed too cold to breathe—the doctor's demeanor felt terribly final.

Logram nodded, and one of the guards let go of Lois and went and retrieved the dreaded bed from the hallway. Lois felt faint and struggled weakly against her captor. No—if they took him now, she had little doubt that that would be the last time she would see Kal-El alive.

The guard let her go, pushing her back slightly and moving quickly to help the other lift Clark onto the bed.

Somewhere deep down Clark knew as he felt those arms begin to lift him by his shoulders and feet, that this was it—his last chance to fight to live. Through the panicked haze that had descended upon the first sight of the doctor, he struck out. It was a clumsy punch, but even weakened as he was, the action was strengthened by fear and this terrified realization of his coming end. It overruled his fear for the moment, even his pain.

The soldier fell backwards, dropping Superman's shoulders, and his weight was too much for the single guard to hold. Clark fell heavily, hitting his shoulders on the bed before slipping and falling onto the floor in a heap. He pulled away, struggling to slide back as best as he could, unaware of the pained and panicked whimpers that escaped his throat as he tried to crawl away.

He was distantly aware through his body's coursing fear of Lois dropping the guard that had been holding her. _That's my_ _Lois_.

A guard's iron grip caught his shoulder, halting his pitiful and desperate retreat. A moment later Lois was behind him, pushing the guard away and putting her gentle hand on his arm instead.

"Kal-El. Kal-El. Are you all right?"

Clark looked at her, his eyes dilated with the constant pain that his life had become. He felt lightheaded from the fall, but his mind was floating—oddly disconnected from everything. The end was coming.

"I—I'm okay."

Lois's expression was one that cannot be described. He lay there, bloodless as death and shaking. His voice was weak—barely even audible—and his injured arm lay limp. Though she couldn't see it, the slightly weaker shaking of his arm told her that the fall had probably broke the terrible wound open again—the newly changed white linen was yet outwardly clean, but soon she knew she would be able to see the red creep up into sight again.

She looked up at Logram.

"Haven't you done enough?" she hissed, but her voice was tired and broken. She herself felt as though she were floating in the air above her body—her lips didn't feel fully connected. The rage, desperation, and grief in her voice and body was someone else's. "Haven't you hurt him, stolen from him, degraded him—_dehumanized_ him enough? He's _dying_, Logram."

Logram looked vaguely uncomfortable. "The loss will be…regretful."

"_Regretful_." Lois swore. "You'll kill him, you realize?" she said. "He won't recover if you…if you—"

"The x-rays we took didn't work," Logram said slowly. "It appears that, even weakened, his molecular density is enough that the x-rays can't give us a clear picture."

"So?"

"We're going to try again."

Lois felt some life returning back into her body. She felt her hands on Superman's shoulders—felt the fear again gripping her heart, but it was relaxing the slightest bit. "That's it?" insisted Lois. The x-rays hadn't hurt him. Perhaps he could survive one more day…they could creep by beneath the veil of death just one more day…

"And a couple more blood samples."

Lois wondered distantly—not for the first time this week—if these men weren't half vampires. She had a sudden, wild urge to make a cross with her fingers just to see what would happen. She resisted.

_You're going insane_.

Yes. Perhaps she was. But Kal-El was going to live one more day.

The guards pulled her up, then lifted Superman onto the bed. He was shaking still, but seemed to have spent all his energy on his brief struggle.

Lois stepped forward and latched onto Superman's arm—a clear signal that she was not moving from his side, but also showing that she wouldn't attack the cursed men again. Not for now, anyway. The x-rays hadn't done anything before, and she had learned that some things were more important for than others. Even if Superman's quivering under her hand made her feel like a low-class traitor for not fighting _now_.

She walked forward down the hall with them.

"Lois."

She was surprised. Superman had hardly talked in some hours, and he rarely talked around their captors unless prompted. Lois looked at him.

"What is it, Kal?"

"Thank you, Lois," his voice was low and soft—almost like the voice of the man he had been before he had come to this place. It was Superman's voice, but gentle. His shaking had stopped, strangely, and now he looked at her with the most lucid eyes he'd had in days. "Thank you."

"For what?" The question almost caught in her throat.

"For staying with me. For…not letting me die alone."

Lois bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. She wanted to shout at him—to rant, to rage at him for giving up, at the world, and whatever _fate_ had brought them there…

But she couldn't. She slipped her hand into his.

"Y-you're still alive, Kal-El. Don't talk like that," she said softly, but her voice shook.

He just smiled—a shocking thing to see on his face. It was weak, but it was there, for a bare moment of light in the deepening shadows. A smile for her that spoke volumes. He closed his eyes.

_I love you, Lois. _

TBC...


	14. I See Right Through You

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

BTW: Life just exploded out of my ears, and with finals coming up starting Saturday (Why in the world would anyone decide that finals should start on a Saturday!?), a 7 page paper due tomorrow, a 4 page paper due the next day, and all the normal hw stuff besides...Well, between my complaining, I'm just trying to say that my posting schedule may get a little less consistent than it has been. Just a warning, that's all.

Special thanks to Shado from the Planet forum for a certain medical detail included in this chapter.

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Chapter 14: I See Right Through You

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_I love you, Kal-El_.

The words moved through her mind, down her arm, to his hand, and she prayed that he could feel it. She couldn't find the strength to speak them.

They entered the other room. Lois forced herself to keep walking, though her feet unwillingly began to drag on the cold, lifeless floor.

Her eyes went to the monitors, to where Kal-El had been held—lying, broken, bleeding, screaming. The unfiltered, bright lights brought back memories as bad as the nightmares that plagued her sleep.

Clark was struggling to keep his own breathing at least somewhat calm. The ever-present fear that had loomed in his mind like a black shadow was beginning to fade. One way or another, it was coming to the end. And after he died, there was nothing else for him to worry about.

_Lois…_

Except Lois. But she could do it. She could go on living. She had to.

So he floated. His heart beat in his head like a distant funeral procession. His pain was growing more distant. His mind had accepted too much this past week, and now it felt nothing. He hardly felt their hands on him as they adjusted the x-ray machine over him.

No need to fear. This, at least, would not bring more pain. And he was tired. So tired, that he didn't even care any more.

He heard the hum of the x-ray machine turning on above him. Lois hovered a few feet away, wringing her hands, but allowing this. Her eyes were busy elsewhere—looking, searching for something to help her out of this.

Time was running out.

Logram paused, fiddling with the x-ray machine for a moment, and then moved it over Superman's body.

As soon as the x-ray touched the soles of his bare feet, Clark knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. Pain, like kryptonite but a hundred times worse, struck into his skin like a focused laser.

He had no time to brace for it. He had been floating, drifting, dreaming, and then pain brought him back down to Earth so sharply that his whole body shook with the shock of it. He screamed.

Lois jerked into her body from her distant awareness. Nothing seemed wrong…nothing _looked_ wrong—but Superman was screaming. A terrible, soul-wrenching scream that made all of the dreams from her nightmares seem like a drop of tears in an endless ocean.

The x-ray moved up his ankles, his calves, his knees, and his scream rose in pitch and intensity.

Lois cursed desperately, leaping forward, but the guard was ready and quickly took her in a firm grip. The x-ray machine continued to move upwards.

"No. No! What are you doing to him?! Kal-El! You're killing him!" Clark shuddered, his eyes shut as he screamed on and on and on…Lois was surprised the lights didn't shatter, that the ceiling didn't fall in, that heaven itself didn't strike down to save him.

Even Logram looked shaken by the sound of Superman's agony. "Well, the x-rays…we added kryptonite radiation to…weaken his cell density to…get a clearer picture."

And then, Superman stopped screaming.

In all of her life, Lois had never heard anything so terrifying, so awful, as that sudden silence. Silence, but for the continuing hum of the machine.

Logram practically dropped his clipboard on the table beside him and turned sharply, hitting a black button on the x-ray and turning off the machine.

Clark didn't move. Lois felt her heart tearing in two.

"Kal-El. _Kal-El_! Superman!"

Nothing but silence. Silence as Logram reached up, pushing the x-ray machine aside and putting a finger to Superman's throat. He shook his head after a moment, then moved it—to his good arm which was mottled with bruises from the blood samples.

Lois went deathly still. Her very blood froze in her veins. Waiting. Waiting. Her heart was growing colder in the extending silence.

Logram swore.

Lois felt it rising in her heart—utter complete despair. Her heart was going to burst, her soul was going to tear clean from her body and vanish. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear it.

Logram moved over quickly to the monitors, pulling out wires and placing them on Superman's body.

And then, Clark took a breath.

It was a loud, gasping breath, like one who had dived too deep and had barely made it to the surface before fading completely to blackness. His whole body shuddered as he struggled for air.

With a cry of relief, Lois tried to pull out of the guard's grip, but he held her firm, even as Logram found Superman's pulse with the wires he was placing on him and a weak, frenzied heart pattern appeared on the monitors.

An urgent beeping sounded with the blinking of a bright red light on a panel beside Logram. The doctor cursed and turned away from Superman's shaking, gesturing sharply to the guard that held Lois.

"Go and check it out," he said. When the guard hesitated, Logram snapped, "I can take care of the girl. She's not going anywhere without the alien, anyway." The guard released her, but Lois surprised herself when her feet didn't run to his side immediately, but her eyes moved sideways as if drawn by their own accord to the clipboard that Logram had set aside, and now had forgotten as he had his back to her.

To the metallic blue cardkey that sat on top of it, gleaming like hope itself, forgotten.

A moment later the guard stepped back in, backed by three of his fellows. They walked right past Lois, their backs all but turned to her as they talked to Logram. "There's been a breach, sir."

Another curse from Logram. He lifted a headpiece from the beeping machine and put it on, not looking away from Superman as he pressed a button to receive reception. Lois didn't look at him—her eyes were fixed only on the blue card key, which sat on the shiny silver table like a banner. She slid one foot forward slowly, as if afraid any obvious movement might make the card disappear like a dream.

"What?" Logram demanded into the mouthpiece, irritated. There was a pause, and then in a very different tone, this one suddenly firm and business-like. "Are you sure? What's the status?" He glanced back at Lois, who froze in her slightest movement and looked at Superman's still body. His faint heartbeat fluttered unsteadily on the monitors, the strong beep marking it almost haphazardly. Logram looked back at the monitors, as if following her gaze. Lois inched forward again, licking her lips. Her mouth was dry as she lifted her hand slowly. She felt the cold plastic beneath her fingers.

"Very well. Get everyone out there. I'll be with you shortly." Logram terminated the conversation and turned around to look at the guards. Lois slipped the card into her hand and hid it in her clammy palm, stepping a small step back away from the table. "Code Orange. Could be nothing, but I want all men searching the grounds. Nelson, Grimmer, drop these two off. You other two, with me."

One of the soldiers grabbed Lois's arm and she let herself be pulled away as Logram left with two of the guards. She mentally urged the soldiers to hurry, the card growing slippery in her hand from sweat. She didn't know how long it would take for Logram to realize it was gone. They only had this one chance. Lois prayed that fate would be for them.

And Superman…he would be okay. He _would_ be.

The guard pushing Superman swiped open the door and rolled the bed in. He didn't even undo the restraints, but stepped back and turned to go as a red light flashed from the hall and a distant alarm wailed as if in agony.

One of the soldiers pressed a button at a small black device at his belt. "We're on it," he responded crisply to some unknown order. The second guard let Lois go and they moved quickly out the door, closing it firmly behind them without a backward glance.

Lois didn't move. She was frozen, feeling the card slipping between her trembling fingers. She felt the cold eye of the ever-watching camera on her back. Superman lay on the bed, still restrained, out cold. His breathing was raspy and shallow, and it echoed in the small room painfully. In. Out. In. Out. The card was in her hand.

Lois hurried to his side. He was unconscious, pale as death itself, now, but some scarlet blood colored the corner of his mouth. As she watched, blood began to trickle out of his nose, marking a scarlet trail down his face to drip onto the bed behind him. She grasped his hands, wiping the blood away with a corner of the bed sheet. She couldn't do anything else, for now, though the realization threatened to throw her into a panic.

What had the kryptonite done to him this time? Why was his _nose_ bleeding? Did that mean his lungs were bleeding, or just his throat from the screaming…?

Lois didn't know. So she forced herself not to think about it, even as the blood began making another slow trail down the side of his face.

She knew if…_when_ he woke he would not want to be on the table, but Lois was not strong enough to help him down carefully, even with the weight that he had clearly lost over the last weeks. She leaned over, allowing herself to hold him for a moment as the fear that had taken her in the last room began to release its grip on her.

"Oh, Kal," she whispered, clutching him like a lifeline.

It had been close. It had been too close. For a moment in there she had thought she could almost feel his spirit pulling away. She had almost lost him.

She kissed him. His lips were cracked and limp, and tasted faintly of blood, but she didn't care. She loved him. She wanted nothing more than for him to be free, to be saved—to be able to fly free with the innocent spirit that was now battered and bruised.

Another alarm joined the first, closer somewhere in the compound, and Lois blinked, coming out of a daze to realize that she was shaking. She brushed his hair from his brow. _We're getting out of here, Kal-El_. One way or another, today was going to be the end of this.

She moved to the bed, grabbing her heels that hadn't been moved for days, and after a moment she grabbed his boots and shoved them under the cold table that held him. She didn't untie the restraints—if he awoke and struggled she didn't want him to fall and further injure himself, no matter what sort of nightmares his position would recall. He would be all right. He had to be.

She hesitated, uncertain, now, upon what action to take. She shifted, then after a moment decided to continue onward barefoot, holding the shoes in her hands. She cursed whatever moment had inspired her to wear heels on the day of the beginning of this nightmare.

Clutching her shoes tightly, she slowly she walked towards the door. She listened for a moment, but the door was thick and no sound besides the wailing alarms reached her ears. Taking a deep breath, she swiped the card.

The light turned green, and Lois opened the door.

To find herself looking right into a very startled looking guard's face.

TBC...


	15. So Long, Farewell

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Chapter 15: So Long, Farewell

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For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Lois did the only thing that seemed logical to her at the moment. Without thinking she twisted to the side, grabbing his arm and lifting her high heels to strike him right over the head.

The man sunk like a limp rag. Lois let him fall.

His walkie-talkie blared on, however.

"What was that, Henries? High security door on in hallway 24? Henries, come in."

Lois stared at him for a moment, then back at her shoes. Then, slipping back into the white room she shoved one of the heels under the table with Superman's bright boots, keeping the other one in hand. Stiletto heels. Who would have thought?

She propped the door open awkwardly with her foot as she pulled the metal bed out with Superman on it. It was a struggle to get him through the narrow doorway alone, and she had to kick the guard ungently out of the way, but it was doable. On last thought Lois grabbed the angry-sounding radio and was soon Lois was pushing Superman down the terribly echoing halls.

"What's that, Peters?"

"Henries just cut out on me—last thing I heard he was going down hallway 24."

Another voice cut in. "Ford, we've got the doctor and his thugs. No sign of the big guy."

"Big Boy Blue or the Boss?"

"Neither."

"Peters, Samuels, where are you now?

"Hallway 16, sir."

"45, general. Dead end, here."

"I want you two down hallway 24. Find Henries. Keep an eye out for trouble."

"Yes, sir."

She was grateful for the wailing sirens—for one, it seemed to have emptied the bunker of everyone into the hands of these newcomers, and for another, if it had been silent as usual there was no way that she could have hidden the racket of the bed as it clattered down the cement passageway. So heedless of noise, Lois ran, pushing Superman before her.

Superman twitched slightly at as the sound of the sirens increased.

"It's all right, Kal-El," she murmured, though he probably couldn't have heard her even had he been conscious. "We're getting out of here."

No guards. Every corner she took, her heart would still within her until she saw that it, too, was empty, like all of the formers. So Lois pressed on, thankful of their luck, but wary—oh, so wary. Just one wandering guard would be enough to take care of both of them, stiletto heel or no.

She wasn't about to trust them in the hands of _any_ government group. Preferably forever.

She saw hallway 16 and ran past it, cutting down hall 17 and keeping an ear tuned to the radio in hopes of hearing of any men coming her way before running into them.

She started trying doors, but a good many were locked or led to empty rooms. So she moved onward, her bare feet hurting from slapping on the cold hard floor and her fingers slick on the shoe in her hand.

"General, this is Samuels. You better get in here."

"What is it, Samuels?"

"Just found Henries, sir. He's out. Looks like a nasty blow to the head—from a hammer, maybe. Found the high security door he mentioned. It's open. It looks like whoever did this to him forgot to close the door all the way. You better come see this."

It was about ten minutes after leaving the white room that she found a door that was open, and that led to the outside.

The outside. It was late morning—bright, beautiful morning, with the sky as blue as the sky can be, with only a faint bordering of white clouds over across the horizon. The sun shone bright overhead, and as if sensing the freedom, Superman's breathing suddenly eased, softening and becoming less raspy and struggled. Or maybe it was just the lack of it echoing in the space of the hall. Lois wasn't sure.

And there, right in front of her, was her own jeep Cherokee.

Lois said a prayer of thankfulness and quickly turned off the radio. _At last _fate was coming through for her, and she didn't want the noise from the radio giving away their position.

The car's license plates had been changed, but other than that the car appeared quite untouched. It was even unlocked, for crying out loud, as if it had been dumped here and entirely forgotten.

Of course, who would think of trying to steal a car from a secret government hideout like this?

Lois eased Superman forward, down a slight step and onto the gravel of the unpaved ground. She opened the back door and looked around briefly, her heart beating away frantically, then went to work.

She undid the straps that held him down with shaking hands and lifted Superman as best as she could. She half-dragged him halfway onto the back seat of her Cherokee, but he slipped slightly despite her caution and landed on the seat with a bump. The pain of the sudden movement woke him and he cried out—though in his state it came forth as a pitiful whimper. His brow furrowed, but he didn't open his eyes. He wasn't fully conscious—only to the pain.

Apologizing mentally, Lois shifted her grip to get him the rest of the way into the car, forcing herself to not be hampered by the faint moans, almost like distant sobs, that were cutting through her heart. Just before she lifted, however, a uniformed man that had to have been some sort of general for all the badges he wore strode past the little alcove, flanked by two soldiers, and between them walked Logram. They were in the middle of a conversation, and as they passed the general turned suddenly and looked down at Logram. The only thing between them and her was her car and some twenty yards, but their voices carried easily.

Superman began to moan again, and Lois quickly clapped her hand over his mouth. He flinched as she pressed close to him to as not to be seen.

"For the last time, Dr. Logram. Where is he? Some of my men just found traces of some unknown type of blood in that little white room of yours, and from your lab. Where is he?"

Surprise manifested itself in Logram with a blink. Lois wouldn't have even caught it if she hadn't been watching for it. She could see the realization of their escape spreading through his being. His expression changed from shadowed to quite calm—as if he were almost pleased. Lois shivered, not liking the expression in the slightest.

"You won't find our records, General. I had everything sent out as soon as there was the slightest sign of your approach. Everything that you might have found here is destroyed."

"I don't want the records, Logram. I'm here to find Superman."

"Don't take that self-righteous tone with me! You wanted him just as much as we did, but our department got to him first." He leaned forward. "You wanted the same thing as we did from him."

The general didn't deny it.

"Where did you take him?"

Lois mouthed a shaken curse. Was the whole government against them?

Logram smiled. "He got away earlier this morning, probably in the chaos of your coming. He's long gone by now."

"You seem too pleased about that for me to even think about believing you."

"It's quite simple," Logram said calmly. "I know where to find him, and you don't. And if I don't find him, then I know how to get him to come to me. You can't keep me quiet."

"You'll tell us everything you know, Logram, or you won't see the light of day again."

Logram was silent, or at least they had walked too far for Lois to hear his reply.

Lois let out a breath that her lungs had been straining to hold. She was shaking as she finished lifting Superman into the back seat. His groans had quieted; it seemed like he had lapsed into unconsciousness once again. She checked to make sure he was breathing—just in case—and felt her own heartbeat ease once again. She couldn't lose him now.

Remembering at the last moment, Lois lifted his boots and tossed them into the back with him.

She tucked his cape around him and closed the door hesitantly. She didn't want to take her eyes off him, even for a moment. She peered towards the base where soldiers were still stalking here and there, guns at ready, but no one was close enough to pay any heed to her, she hoped. She darted around and slipped inside the driver's seat almost soundlessly, then set her stiletto heel on the seat beside her and ducked her head as she worked to wire the car to start, reminding herself to give Jimmy a very grateful thank you when she saw him next.

"Okay, Kal-El," she whispered, with a glance back at the unconscious man that looked quite squashed in the back seat despite her care to try and make him comfortable. She took a deep breath. "Let's get out of here."

The car gave a soft rumble as it came to life, and Lois turned the stolen radio on softly as she started forward, hoping a more casual pace might attract less attention, at first.

It seemed to work for a minute. She got halfway across the bare enclosure and had her eyes firmly fixed on the open gate before her. Her hands were slippery on the wheel, and her leg shook slightly on the gas.

"General, this is Meyers. We've got a car coming out here!"

The waving of a guard caught her eye and she looked over to see a guard running towards her, shouting and gesturing obviously for her to stop even as he swung his gun over his shoulder into his hands.

Like heck she would. Lois gunned her jeep, giving her automobile all it had.

"He's moving. He's moving!"

"I see him, Meyers."

They jerked forward, wheels peeling out on the unpaved dirt before shooting them forward. A gunshot sounded loud behind them even over the engine, and Lois ducked, trying to keep low. Two shots sounded, and the passenger window shattered inward, spraying Lois with glass. The bullet was angled upwards and broke through the ceiling of the car. Lois cringed down, feeling a cut on her cheek from the flying glass. The gates were right before her. With one last final flooring of the gas pedal, Lois shot through them onto paved road. The gunshots behind them faded.

A minute later, after a loud explosion of swearing and general chaos on the end of the soldiers, the radio cut off abruptly. Whether she had gotten unlucky and they had realized where the missing radio had gone, or the government had cut back on funding once again and couldn't even afford communications with a decent range of reception, Lois didn't know.

She didn't let up on the gas for a half an hour, blasting down the straight road at 90 mph on the only road, then heading east towards where she guessed and hoped Metropolis was located. It was good fate for her that the road was so straight and empty, else she might have crashed and had a dismal end for their escape. As it was, she was forced to stop at a small town as her tank needle dipped below empty.

She pulled into the dusty looking gas station, making sure the broken window was facing away from the small building, and didn't move for a second. Her hands trembled on the wheel she had been holding in a death grip. She glanced back at Superman. His breathing had been broken by struggling gasps for air as she sped along, but she had been too terrified to stop or even look back.

Lois peeled her white fingers from the steering wheel and looked down at the stiletto heel on the shot-gun seat, then swore. She had left the other one behind. It hadn't drawn her attention like the bright red of Superman's boots, and in the fearful hurry of their departure she must have overlooked it.

She reached under the car mat to retrieve a credit card. She had started hiding it there ever since she realized that her luck was such that she lost her purse, wallet, and cash quite frequently. As she swiped it and began filling her car she was grateful she had chosen to do so, even though even _she_ had thought it somewhat ridiculous when she had first stashed it there.

She climbed back into the car as her tank was being filled, not wanting to be out in the open. She sat back into the driver's seat, her eyes snapping to each dusty car that drove by the potted street beside the gas station. She noted an old, grizzled looking man in worn coveralls leaning against the building of the gas station. As the tank registered "full" Lois stepped out again, replaced the nozzle, and then made her way into the store.

She opened the door—it had a bell that clanged merrily as she did so—and peered in. A Coca-Cola machine hummed cheerily in the corner, and a clear-windowed refrigerator breathed contentedly behind it. Her bare feet felt odd on the sticky, cold floor as she looked around at the small isles packed with snacks and all sorts of random odds and ends that the long-distance traveler might find lacking. She moved forward, lifting a road map from a stand and opening it up. She glanced towards the door, checking on her car. No one was around.

Thank goodness for small towns!

The bell rang as the door opened and the old farmer-like man stepped in.

"Hi," he said, his voice rough as his sun-tanned face. "I'm Sam. How can I help you, miss?"

Lois realized then how terrible she must look. She hadn't showered in over a week, her hair was uncombed and likely had the appearance of a rat's nest. She had been crying not long before, and was pale and still shaking slightly. Added to the fact that she was completely shoeless, her disheveled appearance was complete. She must look like a vagabond.

As his eyes took in her appearance, Lois rushed to explain, and actually managed to sound quite irritated. "I was driving, and pulled over to help this man who was having engine trouble. Well, it turned out he didn't have any trouble. He stole my wallet and keys and took my shoes just for the insult."

The farmer's expression was caught between shocked and horrified. "It's just getting worse. You can't trust anyone any more. It got better for a time when Superman was around—even out here, 'cause he kept all the criminals scared. But you're the second carjacked person that I've seen stop by this month. Must be the same guy. I told those government fellows they should watch that road. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Just roughed me up a bit," Lois said. "I'm fine. Just—just a bit shaken."

She stepped forward, lifting the map. "I-I'm afraid I've gotten myself a bit mixed up, though," she said, her voice wobbling slightly despite herself. "I'm not exactly sure where I am."

"Well, you're right around here, miss, in Latenton," he said, pointing with a gnarled finger to a blank spot just off a highway on the map. "We're not on there—too small, I guess. This gas station's just about all we're made of, and a few old folk like myself." Lois nodded, tracing the roads quickly to Metropolis. It would be a good six hour drive, she guessed. She had covered a good deal of road in her last panicked drive, and it seemed like Logram must have taken them to the base by a round-about way.

"Okay," Lois muttered to herself. She folded the map back up and looked around. After a moment she grabbed a small camping towel, three bottles of water, and a plaid woolen blanket from the shelf, along with a handful of double-chocolate candy bars. She took them all to the counter, where Sam was waiting.

"Find everything you need?" Sam asked, his rough voice soft. Lois nodded, handing her card to him as she looked out the window again, watching her car.

Sam shook his head. "You just go on an' take those things, miss," he said.

Not so long ago Lois might have near attacked him for trying to be charitable to her—after all, it wasn't like she was a beggar. She had her card to pay. But his eyes were kind—open, honest. She had almost forgotten that there was something good in this world outside of herself and Superman.

"Thank you," she said.

TBC...


	16. Home Sweet Home

Okay, before I post this, I have to apologize if the typos are more abundant and the general writing quality went down this chapter. I hope it's not too bad, but I wrote it about a week ago, and when I went through to edit it today, my brain wasn't working.

Meaning, finals are just around the bend, I stayed up until 2 am last night working on a cursed paper of Doom, and to top it off...I have a head cold. sniffles pitifully

The last issue (the cold) is probably the worst. My head is full of fluff.

So hopefully this chapter will be satisfactory nonetheless. crosses fingers

And even though I wasn't intending on posting this next part until considerably later tonight (it's on 1 pm here right now), I needed a break. So there you go. Have a party or something. 

Oh. And please review, if only because you feel bad for me 

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Chapter 16: Home Sweet Home

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Lois drove. The hours slipped by, skipping in bouts of panic every time a car came within sight, or passed her. But there was no sign of them being followed, and that bothered her. A lot.

Had these new government arrivals believed Logram? Had they thought Superman had just flown away? But they had shot at her car…surely they weren't about to let her get away so easily? Even if they hadn't seen her face, they had seen her car. They knew the fake license plate number, at least.

Possibilities flooded her mind, threatening to reduce her into a wreck of paranoid terror as she went along. They were tracking them, somehow--maybe in the car. How else would she have been able to find it so conveniently? But then, it had been the new group that had shot at her, not the old, and it didn't sound like Logram and the newcomers were on friendly, share-and-share-alike terms. But the tapes. If these new arrivals found the tapes, then there was no doubt they could ID her, and from there...But no. Logram had said that all the evidence was gone. Surely that would include tapes.

Did these newcomers know of Lois's presence at the compound at all? She would hope not. They had been quite distant--she doubted they had been able to get more than the barest description of her appearance. So she would hope.

Hope. So little--so thin--that it was like trying to put a tissue between her and a speeding bullet and hope the tissue might stop it. But without it she was going to go crazy.

More crazy than she already was, at least.

And what if Logram talked? _He_ knew Lois had been there, along with the guards. Or (the worst thought of all) what if Logram went free and came after them again?

Hope. Hope was all she had. If she considered all the possibilities--of everyone that could be after them, of how much they could know--then it was too much. So she blocked it away and just drove.

She had stopped twice—once more to fill up gas and once to check on Superman. She had noticed that the sun was filtering through the window and touching his face with its light, and in his weakened condition Lois didn't want to add a sunburn to everything else. She took his cape and hung it up in the window—keeping the famed emblem facing inward, of course.

She had been surprised when Superman woke up when she had covered the window, blinking blurrily and beginning to shiver.

"L-lois?" he had asked blurrily, peering out at her as if from a great distance—his voice as one waking from a deep sleep.

"Sh, Kal-El. We're free. We're going home."

"C-cold," Clark murmured, even as she adjusted the hideous plaid blanket she had got from the gas station over him.

Lois frowned. It was early summer, so the air was not cold, and she had even had the heat on to make sure he was comfortable. But as she felt his hand he felt like ice.

She reached up to touch his forehead, and found it strangely warm—strange in that there was no fever, but out of the whole of his body it seemed the closest to his normal body temperature, if she was one to say. She reached up to brush her hand through his hair, grimacing at the drying blood from where his head wound had broken open again, but the she stopped, feeling the skin of his scalp.

"Superman—" she leaned forward, looking through the tangled dark hair for the harsh bruise and angry cut that she had become so familiar with over the past few days. But she didn't find the tender wound that she had was looking for. She blinked, gently running her finger over the significantly lighter bruise and the healing scab that looked as if hadn't bled in days.

She paused, looking at the red cape that she had just hung over the window, then back at Clark, then back to the window.

"How are you feeling, Kal?" she ventured.

He shifted, groaning slightly. That was all the answer he seemed able to call forth.

Hesitantly, Lois reached out to pull his cape back from the window, draping it over him instead. She helped him to a drink of the bottled water, and he drifted back to sleep, his pale face illuminated by the sun filtering in through the car's side window. Lois hopped back in the driver's seat and headed off again.

It was a frazzled and an exhausted Lois that drove up to her apartment seven hours after the stop at the gas station; it had taken longer than she had estimated, and it was now approaching evening.

She had worried almost the whole while about where she might hide, but the more she thought about it the more simple it seemed. They hadn't seen her face clearly. Her license plate was wrong, and if all of the evidence was gone, such as Logram had been boasting, there may be no record of her being at the compound at all.

So she decided to head home. Head home, then stay low for a couple of days. It would be no good if whatever government agency was after them now recognized the coincidence of Lois Lane's appearance with the escape of their missing person from the compound.

Something at the back of her mind bugged her--something she was sure she might understand if she weren't half-crazed from fear and exhaustion. But even besides that, her woman's intuition told her to go home.

She drove around the block three times before actually figuring out how to get Superman up to her apartment without bringing half of Metropolis—and even the world—down upon them. Finally she drove to a small little convenient store that didn't look busy, parked her jeep in the farthest corner of the parking lot where no other cars were parked and it looked like no one would pass except to park there, or maybe toss some useless rubbish along with other decades of trash.

She locked the car (for her own comfort more than actual usefulness, considering the broken window) and ran inside, grabbing a white long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweats from the shelf, and a cheap pair of slippers for herself. She paid for them quickly, then ran back outside. Superman was still sleeping, unnoticed by any casual passerby.

Lois glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around, then quickly and with no little struggle pulled the sweats and shirt over Superman's suit. The clothes fit a little more snuggly than was normal, even though Lois had thought she had over-estimated on his size, but considering his normal garb Lois decided she couldn't blame herself for the mistake.

She drove back to her apartment and finally pulled in to park. Some kids ran past, pausing briefly to gawk and point at Lois's shattered window, but she chased them off with a curse and a death glare. It would do no good if word got out that Superman was there, even if it was doubtful that anyone would recognize him in his current state. Either way, she'd rather not have some kids crying murder down the street.

She waited until they'd disappeared around the corner and glanced both ways down the street. Sure, there were cars and some people heading her way, but no one really close and hopefully no one that would pay too much attention to her. She prodded Superman gently.

"Kal-El," she said. "Kal-El. Wake up. I need you to help me. I can't get you up there on my own."

Superman moaned softly.

"Sup—Kal-El," she said again. "I can't get you up to my apartment on my own. Can you at least…try to walk?"

If she were an observer to herself and Clark rather than a participant in all that had happened, she probably would have laughed at the very suggestion. As it was, she had no other choice but to try.

But to her not-surprise, Superman gave a slight nod. The man really did have no sense of his own limits.

So with a last glance up and down the street, she reached forward and lifted him. With no little struggling they got him out of the car, his good arm drooping over her shoulder, his head lolling. Lois felt like she was lifting a dummy made out of sagging lead. Or steel. It sure gave a whole new meaning to the "man of steel" idea, that was for sure.

She wasn't sure where or how she got the strength to even get him up the few stairs to the inside of her apartment, and then to the elevator, where they both slumped against the wall, Clark groaning slightly as even the slightest change in g-force caused his injuries to ache. The elevator opened, and they limped out like some awkward two-head creature.

Luckily no one was around—it was the time of afternoon when everyone was either out or in, but doing very little in between. But Lois realized her problem as soon as she came to her door, wavering and shaking under the weight of the man beside her. She almost cried.

No keys. And six confounded locks with not even a bobby pin to get at them with.

It was times like this that she wished she was more like Clark Kent, her partner. The trusting little farm boy hid a spare key under a potted plant right next to his door. He was too innocent, that was what.

Lois growled a curse, reaching out with a hand as she balanced Superman across her shoulders to try the doorknob despite the fact she knew it was locked—just in case. Of course, it didn't move, and that was how she ended up carrying Superman over to a janitorial closet, kicking it open awkwardly, and hobbling in there.

She turned on the single, dim light bulb and cleared enough space with her foot to lower Superman to the ground, though he didn't look comfortable, hunched against the wall in the small room. She knelt down beside him, reaching out to touch his face. His deep eyes watched her like a child awoken from a nightmare—trusting in her, but scared.

"Kal-El," she said slowly. "I need to go get into my apartment. I'll be back. I promise. You just stay here, and try not to move. Okay?" He didn't answer, his deep eyes still fixed blurrily on her face. He nodded barely, and she brushed a stray strand of dark hair from his eyes. "Okay."

She took the elevator, but as soon as the doors closed behind her she wished she had taken the stairs, because it seemed to move so slowly that she wondered if it had broken down completely and was going the pace of a falling helium balloon.

Finally the doors opened and she walked quickly to the side of the apartment, stopping only briefly to fish out her lone heel from the back of the car. Finally standing in the alleyway on the side of the apartment, Lois looked up to the fire escape some a good few feet above her head.

That was not to stop Lois Lane. Not now. She shoved the stiletto heel into the belt of her pants--ignoring the discomfort--and went over to a nearby dumpster and climbed up on top of it, then leaped over and grabbed a hold of the bottom rung. It was a struggle, but with a good many curses and grunts she dragged her feet up and began to climb.

She had never gone to her window from the outside—that was Superman's specialty, but he wasn't with her right now. But picturing him alone, shivering, in the grey custodial closet was enough to make Lois move more quickly despite her straining muscles and her weary body and mind.

She finally found her window, but was perturbed to find that they were all quite nicely locked. Once again grateful for her very useful stiletto pump, she pulled it out, and bracing herself jabbed the sharp heel into the window sharply. It took a few loud blows, but eventually a part of the window began to crack. Working away at that point, soon she had a small opening and was able to reach through and unlock the window from the inside.

Lois crawled in, careful not to cut herself from the broken glass from her entry, and made a mental note to buy reinforced glass for the window when she bought the replacement. It was far too easy to break in, and if one can get in the window…What was the point of having six locks on her door at all?

She strode across the room, discarding her heels in the process, and threw open all six locks before stepping out into the hall. She left her door open, and moved down the hall to open the custodial closet carefully.

She was exasperated, concerned, but again not very surprised to find that Superman had pulled himself into a sort of sitting position against the wall, his legs sprawled out before him, his injured arm drooped across his lap, and his head hanging limply away from his shoulders, which seemed almost wedged between the floor and the wall itself. He sat slumped there, and from Lois's guess he had just had a very failed attempt at standing. He was paler than when she had left him, and his breath had taken on a rough edge again. He looked up with wide eyes when the door opened, but he visually relaxed as he recognized her.

"I told you not to move," she said, her voice slightly sharp over the concern. The man was insufferable, even injured and half dead as he was. The bandages which had been replaced just that morning were already showing some faint tinges of pink, and Lois was afraid the struggle up the stairs hadn't been good for Kal-El's healing at all.

"S-sorry," he murmured.

Together again, they struggled to lift him in the least painful way possible and hobble the rest of the way back to her apartment. Lois felt like either weeping or laughing for joy when she finally closed the door behind her. They were safe. They had made it. Incredible, impossible, but they had made it.

It felt like a dream.

Still, they moved forward until Lois lowered him gently on her bed. It was wide, soft, and cream-colored, so while Clark tensed slightly as he lay down and Lois pulled the covers up and over him, it was different enough from the white room—the white beds—the stiff sheets—that he was able to relax slightly.

Lois muttered a "be right back," and slipped from the room to get him a drink. Clark stiffened immediately, lifting his head and watching for her despite the strain until she walked back in the room.

His mind was fuzzy—faint blood loss, exhaustion, pain, and fear. He couldn't remember much of the ride here—just cold, and pain, and a faint light warmth brushing his brow with a gentle light. He wanted to ask Lois how it had all happened, if she was all right…_and what had happened_. The last thing he remembered in the compound had been sudden, searing, and blinding pain, and then...nothing.

He shuddered.

But he was too tired to ask now. Even as he worked to make his tongue move in the right shape to form the words, they died in his sore throat. Sleep called for him.

He was afraid to let go, though. He was afraid that if he fell asleep he'd be back there—back, dying, picked over like a lab rat…an alien.

He shuddered unwillingly, and an unnoticed, slight whimper escaped his throat. No. He couldn't sleep. He should call his parents—talk to them. They must be worried sick. How long had it been? Days? Months? Years?

He tried to straighten—to stand—to go to the phone, but gentle and kind hands held him down. Lois. She was holding him, murmuring gentle comforts to him. Tell him that he would be all right.

She had saved him. She had saved him more than just getting him away from that place and those men. She had saved him more completely than he had ever been able to save her. More than she had ever _needed_ to be saved.

And it had cost her. Even floating in the haze as he was, Clark could see that it had caused her. She was scarred—hurt, haunted. A shadow hung over her beautiful soul like a shroud. All because of him.

But she didn't realize that. Or if she did, she didn't let it stop her. Clark knew that no matter where he woke up, she would still be there with him.

And with that thought, he was finally able to drift off to sleep.

TBC...

Please review! 


	17. Healing Light

Ah! A new day. Lovely, lovely.

Thanks for all the well-wishes and all. I just got out of my last class, and am feeling considerably better. My cold all but vanished overnight, and with all my papers done and the finals not for a whole day...I am feeling quite nice right now. Tomorrow I may be freaking out again, but for now...life is good.

So here's a nice, longer chapter for all my very friendly readers and reviewers.

Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! Keep it up! I'll be reading through them throughout the day tomorrow to keep from drowning in the reviews for all my tests.

Enjoy,

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Chapter 17: Healing Light

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Superman was a much deeper sleeper than Lois would have thought, even with his injuries. After he fell asleep he didn't even stir when Lois pulled away from his embrace. She went into the kitchen to stir up some creamy cereal (luckily one of the few things she knew how to "cook," and even more luck was with her enough that she was able to do that without burning it…much). She grimaced at the dry and unlikely looking assortment of food in her fridge before pulling out a carton of chocolate ice cream and a spoon.

She walked back into her bedroom and sat down in a chair there, eating the ice cream slowly as she stared at the sleeping man, who had turned slightly on his side. His unwashed hair stuck up at odd angles, and his mouth was open slightly. If not for his pale coloring and the circles under his eyes, he would have looked positively childlike.

Superman.

In her bed.

It was most unreal.

She took another bite of ice cream, but though the rich chocolate was vivid for her taste, after so many days of bland nothing, she felt it like a dream. She was sitting, in her room, eating chocolate ice cream after hardly eating anything in days. And there was Superman.

Kal-El.

He had almost died this morning.

She knew it. She had felt it—like she could feel the strings of his spirit floating above hers and threatening to take off. The slightest bit more and it would have been too much for the both of them.

He was doing much better, now. His recovery even so soon was astonishing, though if anyone else were to see him they would wonder what recovery she was thinking about. He still didn't even look like a shadow of the man—of the hero—that America knew him as.

But Lois knew. She knew that there was no way that he should have been able to attempt to stand even as much as he did, even before his latest exposure to kryptonite. There was no way Lois could have carried him up the stairs without the strength that Superman had used to help them both up to her apartment. Yes, it had been weak and pitiful, but it had been _there_.

She took another bite and slowly set the carton on the dresser. She stood, her eyes not leaving the lump of Superman's slightly curled-up frame beneath her thick comforter.

Moving to the windows, she opened the blinds, allowing the afternoon sunlight to stream in and set the soft brown colors of the blankets alight.

Superman shifted, even in his sleep, as the light brushed him, letting out a sigh that would have been one of pure pleasure if it had been a little stronger. Now it just sounded relieved—like the kind of sigh a man makes who had been dying of thirst and finally found a pool of cool, clean water to drink from.

Lois looked at him, to the window, and back to him.

She didn't know. But it was as good a try as anything.

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Lois ate the whole carton of ice cream, though afterwards she regretted it quite well with the sick churning of her stomach. Almost a full half a gallon of ice cream was not a good thing to eat on an empty stomach, especially one as empty as hers was.

She washed down the ice cream with water and a peanut butter sandwich with milk—a childish flashback, perhaps, and again not very filling, but she didn't feel like calling take-out. For the moment, she just wanted to be in her apartment, without any strangers, and try to feel like she was coming back to life.

Lois hardly let Superman out of her sight for a moment. She cleaned up the glass from her entry, duct-taped the hole in the window closed, and after taking a quick peek in at Superman before jumping in the shower. She wanted to relax and enjoy the feel of the hot water pouring down her filthy skin, but as soon as she stepped under the running water she pictured Superman laying there, hopeless and terrified in the white room. She showered in record speed and staggered back into her room half-dressed, her heart pounding away like a mad thing.

Superman hadn't moved, but for a slight shifting that moved him farther into the fading sunlight. Still, Lois's heart didn't calm until she put a still-damp and shaking hand on his forehead and heard his steady breaths.

She let out a long sigh. He was okay.

She cooked frozen pizza for dinner and sat eating it by Superman's side, staring at the superhero for a good half an hour without moving. She wanted to get him out of his suit beneath the t-shirt and sweats that she had pulled over it, but she didn't want to bother him. Not right now.

She didn't want to leave his side at all, but Lois took the time to run down the stairs to remove the license plates from her car and bring them inside to hide under her mattress along with the stolen radio. She retrieved Superman's cape from where it had been dropped on the car floor: she didn't want _any_ sign of Superman being found here, and a soiled and wrinkled cape would not be little news, she thought.

Especially since he had been missing for over a week, now. No doubt the news was having a hey-day.

Lois grimaced. Her head hurt and she was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed—next to Superman—and just sleep. But she should call somebody—her parents, maybe? Perry, at least. No doubt he was looking for her. Not the police, though they were probably helping in the search. No. She did not want to see the police.

She glanced over at the door, making sure all six of her locks were bolted firmly.

They would hold long enough for her to get to the phone, if need arose.

But she didn't want to talk to anyone now. So she curled up on the couch—angling it so she could see Superman's form in her darkening room as she turned on the TV and watched it on 'mute.'

There seemed to be nothing on, at first, but after only a few minutes that normal hubbub of Metropolis city life broke way to pictures of Superman. Lois shivered as a picture of him came onto the screen. It was blurred and not entirely in focus, but he was smiling in it, his hand lifted in a slight wave as he lifted off.

His eyes were so innocent.

She turned it off right then. She couldn't bear the sight of the change in his eyes—not now. She needed to remember the victory, not what they had lost.

So she helped herself to another piece of pizza, brushed her teeth, and crawled into bed, reaching over to rest a hand on Superman's broad back as it faced her.

And there, she fell asleep.

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Lois Lane was known for thinking outside the box. For going where no man had gone before. For jumping off cliffs without looking what was on the other side, or how far the drop was to the bottom.

But over the next few days Lois was quite content to remain very nicely boxed in her apartment, with no outside contact but with Kal-El himself.

Their first night back was not a peaceful night. Between both of their numerous nightmares, Lois doubted that either of them rested very much at all, so they ended up sleeping until late in the morning the next day. Clark woke up the last time screaming, disoriented and terrified. He hadn't recognized where he was, and upon the first panicked glance around the room he hadn't seen Lois.

Lois had shot out of bed so fast to quiet him that she was almost moving at superspeed. Clark went quiet, clinging to Lois and crying as he recognized her presence, her touch. She was there. His frazzled mind clung onto that thought. Lois was there. Everything would be all right.

He came to himself slowly. He apologized weakly and lay back in bed, exhausted despite the fact that he just woke up from a very long nap.

Once he seemed recovered Lois looked at him critically—taking in the soiled suit beneath the too-small white shirt. The famed "S"-shield showed out boldly through the thin white cotton. She decided it was time to get to work.

With no little struggle they managed to get him out of the suit—letting him change into the more comfortable sweats and shirts instead. Lois actually had to use scissors more than once to get the suit off—despite the fact that it seemed noticeably looser on him— and afterwards she shoved the remnants of the blood-spattered and torn primary-covered uniform in a black garbage sack with his cape and stuck it in the deepest corner of her closet, to either get rid of later or give back to him, if he really wanted it.

She was afraid of breaking open his injuries, so she didn't touch the casts. She had come too close to losing him, and since he didn't show any signs of fever or further swelling from infection, she decided—_hoped_—that that would be all right, for now.

The following change of clothes would have embarrassed Clark, but his mind was too content just to float in nothingness, after the fearful waking. He felt surprisingly--well, not _good_, but not terrible, either--despite the lingering pain, and he didn't need to think beyond that. He wasn't in the white room any more. He was alive. Lois was there. He was content, for now, just to drift.

It was funny, a vague thought floated through his mind. He couldn't fly, but right now he felt like the first time he had woken up to find himself drifting a few inches above the ceiling. Weightless.

He was actually able to eat a slight breakfast of cereal and water, though he grimaced at the memory of their recent captivity.

Once he got home, he was never going to eat creamy cereal again.

Speaking of home…

Clark wanted to call his parents, but even considering getting up to walk to the phone (in the rare occasion that Lois left his side for more than a minute) was a ridiculous thought. Even though he was feeling surprisingly better, and his swollen fingers beneath the cast of his broken arm were gaining some movement back into them, though he still couldn't turn his wrist without sharp, intense pain that left him breathless and pale.

He didn't know what had happened, but for the first time in over a week he was getting better.

Had he gotten so bad that he was beginning to imagine that he was just getting better, when in reality it was the numbness of something far worse? Or had the last kryptonite exposure done something to him?

He shuddered, his toes curling in memory of the terrible pain. He couldn't see how something like that could be _helpful_ in any way.

Lois returned to his side after taking away their breakfast dishes, and he managed to find a voice to speak.

"Thank you, Lois."

Of course those would be the first words from his mouth, Lois thought, a little perturbed.

"Don't thank me. I just got us out of there. Anyone would have if they had found the chance."

Clark could argue that. He could go on for hours about her bravery, her intelligence, her steadfastness…but he was already feeling tired and it still hurt to talk. "What…what happened?"

So Lois told him, briefly, her voice shaking at certain parts, and Clark reached over and took her hand in his. After the short tale, Lois started and suddenly grabbed his hand with both of hers.

"Kal-El! I figured out where your energy comes from."

Clark jumped at the sudden movement—taken aback by the sudden enthusiasm after the somber finish of her tale, and also (though he was ashamed by the admittance, even to himself), afraid by the quick motion she had made towards him. His heart rate had jumped to a mile a minute, and now he had trouble swallowing before he answered.

"S-Sorry?" he stuttered, trying to calm himself again.

"You know—your energy," Lois repeated. "You said you never got hungry before, and your cells were failing because of lack of energy, and all that…I figured it out."

Clark blinked at her.

Lois waited, as if expecting him to make a guess, or something. Finally, she gestured to the open window where sunlight was streaming inwards. "_Sunlight_, Superman."

Clark looked at her, at the open window, and then back at her. "_What_?" Had Lois finally gone mad?

"It's the sunlight," Lois repeated. "You weren't doing very well at all, but as soon as we stepped out of the compound into the sun, you started breathing easier. And while we were driving away, I went back to block the sun where it was shining on your face, but…that bump on your head was so much healed already. It all makes sense!"

"Sunlight." It was ridiculous. He was a…well, if not a human, then at least a mammal. Or, if not a mammal, then at least an _animal_, even if that meager thought hardly made him feel any better. But he wasn't some sort of…grass, or…or weed that soaked up energy from the sun.

Lois nodded.

"Wouldn't the…_they_…" Clark swallowed. "Wouldn't they have…found something? You know, like…like…chlorophyll, or something? In…in my blood."

"Perhaps," Lois said, looking uneasy at the reminder of the blood tests. "But…you know, they weren't telling us very much there…"

Seeing his continuingly dubious expression her own expression was beginning to sour. "Don't give _me_ that look! I just figured it out. And you're very welcome, too."

She stood abruptly, striding stiffly to open the window further. "So soak it up, little daisy. I want you flying by next week."

Clark didn't know what to say. But the sunlight _did_ feel good, after all of those days locked up with only the artificial whiteness. This light was different. It was full, warm, gentle…

He'd put up with Lois's insanity in hopes that her mind might return after a little while. It was the least he could do, after everything she'd done for him. Not that he was in any condition to go anywhere right now, even if he wanted to.

He slept most of that first day. For most of the morning and into the afternoon, they just lay on Lois's bed, hardly moving, dozing off now and then or just looking out the window, or at the walls, or just sitting with their eyes closed. It was enough to be together—to feel human presence without the fear of impending pain and blood and tears…

As the afternoon began to wane Clark fell into a deep sleep, and Lois untangled herself from his arms and managed to sneak out of the house, disguised with sunglasses and an old hideous coat that Lucy had left during her stay at her apartment. She stocked up with the basic necessities at the local grocer—coffee, ice cream, more ice cream, a large box of chocolate bars…oh! And of course another couple shirts and sweats for Superman, with some other things he might need. She even grabbed a razor for him, and was determined to ask how he usually shaved once she got back.

Halfway through the checkout line she saw a police car drive past the front of the store. She froze, her heart thundering like doom itself, and couldn't get through the line fast enough.

She literally ran back to her apartment and up the stairs—not bothering with the elevator.

She opened the many locks to her apartment with practiced speed despite her many burdens, and opened the door to find Superman on the floor, literally dragging himself with his good arm and leg towards where the phone sat on the coffee table. He was pale and sweating, and he looked up sharply at the sound of her entrance.

"Lois!" he gasped.

"Kal-El!" Lois was torn between exasperation at him and utter relief to see that he was still there—that he was not dying somewhere, alone. "What are you doing?" Lois dropped the bags she held on the ground and moved quickly to his side.

"You…you were gone," Clark said in a small voice as she knelt down and helped pull him into a sitting position against her.

Lois felt her heart crack in two. "I'm sorry," she said. "I…I should have told you, but…you were asleep, and…"

Clark took a deep, shaking breath. "It's okay. I—I'm sorry, I just…" He felt embarrassed. Embarrassment had been a luxury he could not afford in the hands of Bureau 39. But…he was a grown man. Or, at least, a grown alien that felt like a man. Or he thought he was a grown alien, and he thought he felt like a man. He couldn't really know for either things.

Anyway, he was Superman. He shouldn't be found crawling on the floor.

But when he had woken up, and found himself alone…

"What have I told you about apologizing?" Lois said, but it was not sharp.

"You st-started it," Clark said with a shaking attempt at a smile. It failed miserably.

"That's my prerogative," Lois said with a firm nod, though her hands wrapped around his shoulders. His very presence seemed to calm her still-frazzled nerves. "What in the world were you trying to do?"

"Um. Call the police?" Clark said. In truth he hadn't really gotten that far. He had just woken up from a nightmare, and while he had been able to begin to calm down on his own, he had suddenly realized what it meant that Lois had not come to his side yet. He hadn't been able to hear her moving around in the kitchen, and he had suddenly felt so terribly, horribly alone. The apartment was cold and silent, and he could just _feel_ that Lois wasn't there. He had called her name, then in a shaking panic had struggled from the bed, falling ungracefully after the first shaking steps. Panic hadn't really let him think clearly after that.

Lois looked at him incredulously. "The police." Goodness, Superman really was naïve and trusting, even now.

"Maybe not," he said. Of course, it was ridiculous. No doubt Clark Kent was known missing, as well as Lois Lane, and if by chance an officer came in and recognized him—not for Superman, but for _Clark_…that would open a can of worms that he did not want to think about right now—the very thought made him feel ill. And besides, Bureau 39 had been with the government. Who knew who else might be out there, looking for him…? Clark paled a further shade.

"Are you okay?" Lois asked softly, seeing the sudden stillness of his face.

"Y-yeah," Clark said, swallowing. "S-sorry."

Lois resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The man was hopeless. Who would have thought that the man of steel would be so cursedly…_apologetic_? He probably spent as much time obsessing about the things that he couldn't do anything to fix in the world as he did trying to save it, if not more.

She helped him up, cutting off yet another apology with exasperation as he leaned on her heavily. She helped him back to her room slowly and helped him lay back down on the bed. He did so carefully, his brow furrowing slightly in pain, and she noticed it.

"Are you okay?"

Clark nodded slowly. "I…I'm fine."

Lois snorted.

"I could have told you that, flyboy," she said, pushing his hair back from his eyes so it somewhat resembled his usual Superman style, though it was considerably more tussled. "No need to get so full of yourself."

Clark blushed. It made Lois grin.

The man of steel. In her bed. Blushing.

Who would believe it?

Not anyone she knew. And if Lois had her way, no one would ever find out.

No one would ever know that Superman and her even cared about each other any more. It was too dangerous. For him.

She knew he would never be able to resist coming to rescue her if another madman held her at gunpoint in an attempt to capture the man of steel again. Kal-El…that was just who he was. Even now, after what he had gone through.

The rest of the day they spent trying to return to some form of normalcy. Clark tried to convince Lois that he could bathe on his own, but Lois was emphatic—he wasn't leaving her sight, especially in the dangerous area of a tub full of water. He could relapse and drown, or something equally horrible, and Lois wasn't going to risk that. Still, to save his dignity she allowed him a few seconds alone to struggle into the single pair of boxers that she had been unable to resist buying—with the Superman 'S' shield printed boldly on the front. As for the rest, she figured he was a briefs kind of guy.

So she went in and sat by him as he washed, helping him sit up against the side of the tub and wash his hair without getting the bandages on his thigh and right arm wet.

It was surreal. It was ridiculous. It was like one of those crazy dreams that you wake up from and wonder, 'where in the world did _that_ come from?' But it was real, Lois kept reminding herself as she helped Superman back to her bed.

The reminder was certainly necessary. Half of the time she wondered if the whole past week had been nothing but one dark dream. Sometimes she wondered if their escape was a dream, or if she had just finally cracked and this was all some elaborate delusion. Or maybe the life before this was a dream, and now only _now_ was real.

She helped Superman to a can of warmed (not burned) bowl of Campbell chicken noodle soup and some white bread. She dragged a couch into her room and stuck it full in the sunlight, then all-but dragged him over and lay him down.

Clark winced as he settled back into the too-short couch, his injured leg propped up against the couch arm.

"Are you okay?" Lois questioned, concerned. "I know it's a bit small, but you need all the sunlight you can get…"

"It's fine, Lois," Clark said, leaning back and closing his eyes. He felt wonderful, despite the aches and pains throughout his body. His mind was still floating in a world of vague fog, but this was so much better—warm, and soft. Even with the highly uncomfortable couch that he was laying on.

Maybe Lois was right about the sunlight. Clark wasn't sure how that made him feel. Grateful, certainly. But beyond that, he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Lois grunted. She stood and turned away, yawning herself despite the short hours she had been awake. The stress and lack of sleep of the week was going to take some time to get over.

"You…you're supposed to say, 'you're welcome.''

Lois paused in the middle of stretching and looked back at him.

"What?"

"It's polite, Lois." Was that humor in his tone? Lois thought so, and it lifted her spirit. His voice most of the time today had been soft, grateful, apologetic…but he had spoken little beyond what he deemed necessary to be polite. Too often she had seen dark shadows and fear cross his face, and his eyes shoot open quickly as if expecting to find himself back in the white room. This was the closest to a sincere smile she had heard in his voice all day.

"Whatever, Kal-El."

She crawled onto her bed, foregoing the covers. It was warm enough without them. She lay on her side, but all she could see of Superman was the mop of his dark hair sticking out from one side of the couch, and his feet hanging over the other end.

She smiled and let herself relax.

TBC...

Please Review!


	18. You Boggle My Mind

Whew! Well, folks, here we are. I am taking a much-needed break amidst my frenzied cramming to release both some tension from myself and chapter 18 to you.

But before we begin, I have a random side note: Boggle. For any of you who may not be familiar with the game, Boggle involves 16 dice with letters on the 6 sides of the dice. You shake the dice, then settle them in a 4 x 4 tray, and you have a set amount of time to find words within the Boggled up letters. The words have to be at least 3 letters long, and you can go diagonal, horizontal, or vertical to create words, but the letters must be connected in order of the proper spelling to create a word.

After the time runs out, the players go around and read the words they've found, and cross out any words that they have that others found as well. 3 and 4 letter words are 1 point, 5 letter words are 2 points, 6 letter words are 3 points, and so on and so forth. No onomatopoeias, proper nouns, or other stuff like that.

There. That's semi-confusing, but the point is that it's a great game. And the rounds can become very competitive. My family has torn more than one dictionary fighting over the correct spellings of words, etc.

Goodness, I'm such a hopeless geek. If you want to experience Boggle firsthand, here's a free sample download you can get off Yahoo!

Anyway…after that rant—enjoy the chapter.

And please review!

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Chapter 18: You Boggle My Mind

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At the coming of night Lois helped Superman back into her bed—there was no need for him to sleep on the couch if the sun wasn't out. She didn't want him waking up with a sore neck. The man had enough on his plate already.

She was gladdened to notice that he was leaning on her considerably less, and seemed to be limping more carefully, as if aware of certain pains and trying to avoid aggravating them—rather than before, when his whole body had been limp as a rag and probably just one mass of pain.

At this rate, one more day and he should be able to walk on his own. So she settled down to sleep, glad that Superman, Kal-El…that he was getting better.

But while Clark had found peaceful sleep in the light of the sun's rays, during the night he woke up more than once, sweating and shaking, but managing to bite his tongue to stop the screams. He managed to sit up despite the protests of his muscles, and he looked around the room. His eyes settled on Lois where she slept on top of the covers beside him and the tightening in his chest would loosen. Even so, he had trouble going back to sleep; whenever he closed his eyes he found himself back in the white room.

Morning came and Lois slept on. Clark had awoken from his latest nightmare and had finally determined that he had no desire to go back to sleep again, for now. He wiped sweat from his brow and took a deep breath, turning on his side to look over at Lois beside him.

She was so beautiful.

Slightly curled up, her hair in slight disarray. The fire of her eyes hidden as she looked the picture of perfect innocence. Like a little angel.

But if he called her that to her face she'd likely turn into an angel of doom, he thought with a slight smile.

He was in Lois's bed. With Lois, even if she was still on top of the covers.

It was surreal.

No one would believe it. Of course, he would make all effort to make sure no one ever knew that Clark Kent had spent a night—two nights, now—with Lois Lane.

He breathed deeply again, dispelling as best as he could the morning aches and stiffness, as well as the shadowed thoughts that hung over his mind. He focused on Lois.

She still looked tired, despite the fact that since they got back they'd done nothing _but_ rest. He wondered, now that he was awake and aware, how much Lois had slept while he was going in and out of consciousness during their imprisonment. It had seemed like she never slept at all—that she was always awake at his side, ready to help him. That she was always there for him.

Her brow furrowed in sleep and she whimpered softly. Clark reached forward and brushed her hair from her brow gently.

"It's all right, Lois," he murmured. "It's just a dream."

She leaned unconsciously into his touch, then settled back down into her pillow and slept peacefully away.

Clark watched her for a few more minutes, then decided that he was tired of laying around. The first bit of sunlight was beginning to come in through the window, and he carefully sat up, and while it was accompanied by a good many complaints and twangs of complaining muscles, as well as a sharp dart from his leg, he could do it. He his legs over the bed's edge, struggling to keep his breathing quiet despite the strain. He carefully set one foot on the ground, then the other.

His injured leg gave a sharp stab of pain as he stood, and he took all the weight off it with a small gasp. He balanced fully on his good leg and leaned against the wall shakily to support himself.

He could do this. He was Superman.

He limped forward, using the wall like another leg. His breathing grew heavy. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he continued straining forward. He needed to do this.

He didn't think he had ever done anything so hard in his life.

He reached the bedroom door. Three full steps from the bed.

A small step for mankind, a giant leap for Superman.

This from the man for whom it was said, "Can leap tall buildings in a single bound."

Clark wanted to smile at that thought, but he couldn't.

Superman. Was he ever coming back?

He, Clark Kent, was an alien. Could he ever go back to being a man?

He made it to the bathroom and lowered himself down to sit against the wall for a minute, shaking and pale from the pain and exertion, but victorious. It was a bitter victory, though. He was still so weak, and he hated it. He hated that he was so _helpless--_that he was putting Lois through more, even after everything else she had done.

After recovering for a few minutes he climbed to his feet. He turned towards the sink and froze still.

He hadn't looked in the mirror yesterday, even during his brief time in the bathroom. His mind had been too fogged up, and if he had seen he hadn't recognized what he was seeing.

He didn't recognize himself.

He was pale as a ghost, his eyes slightly sunken. His hair looked like a shock of black against his white complexion, his eyes darker than ever—haunted, frightened.

He looked like a terrified kid. He looked like an old man. He looked like a surreal creature from a cheap Hollywood horror movie.

Shaking anew, he finished his business in the bathroom—even awkwardly using the razor that Lois had showed him yesterday. He managed to cut himself twice, and at the sight of the blood welling up around the small nicks he had gone even more pale and had to clutch the counter to keep from falling as he saw more red—deeper, thicker red, which was so far away, but right before him. He didn't know how long he stood there, his eyes closed, his fingers white on the sink, until he was able to calm his breathing and remember.

He was all right. He was here. No green, no terrible white. He was safe.

He needed to see Lois.

It was a much more hurried, painful journey back to the room.

Lois was still sleeping.

Clark let out a breath of relief.

He hung onto the doorframe, quivering like a fallen leaf in the wind.

He wanted to lie back down next to her and forget everything again. To bask in the sunlight of her face—to hold her hand and forget everything but her—his single light in the darkness.

He forced himself to turn away. He limped over to the couch in front of the television and sat down awkwardly in front of the screen, and turned on the TV.

It was on mute already. Clark turned the volume on low.

The morning news was on, and shot after shot was filled with crime. A bank was robbed last night. A woman found mugged and murdered in an alleyway in Suicide Slum. A drive-by shooting that injured three innocents. One of them was in critical condition.

Elsewhere, an earthquake in China was still being cleaned up. The quake had happened three days ago, and the death count was in the thousands.

And then, a short comment.

"Still no sign of Superman."

Clark couldn't agree more with that.

There was a sudden curse from the bedroom, the sound of frantic shuffling, and Lois staggered into the room, sleep-disheveled, stopping only when she saw Superman laying there, his eyes pained as the flickering of the television danced across his pale face.

"Kal-El! What are you doing?"

Clark looked at her slowly. Her heart wrenched at the guilt in his expression. She walked forward, catching sight of the ruin from the earthquake in China.

She swore and stepped forward to turn it off.

"What's the matter with you?" she grumbled, her voice rough from sleep and she rubbed her eyes. "You crawl in here, eager to soak up guilt? Sunlight not enough for you?"

"I had to see what's going on," Clark said softly. "And…I walked."

"Walked?" Lois said, blinking hazily. "Well, that was fast. Knowing you, though, you're not even ready to walk, but you did anyway. Or maybe it's some manly instinct."

Clark knew Lois's comment was certainly not meant to strike him, but the 'manly instinct' cut him to the quick. He looked away from her and began to rise.

Despite her morning grumpiness, Lois was at his side in a moment to help him up.

"That's what I thought," she said as she helped him take a couple steps towards the bedroom. She noticed his faint quivering from the strain of standing erect. "Walking nothing. _Hobbling _is more like it. Don't you want to get better? Now come here, sit in the sunlight like a good super hero while I go make some coffee. You've had coffee, right? How do you like it?"

Clark hesitated a moment. "Three sugars, and cream if you have it."

Lois grimaced. "Well, you can tell that it was _Clark Kent_ that introduced you to Earth's coffee. Let me tell you something, flyboy. Just toss everything he's taught you out the window, because it's not worth anything next to what I know." She helped him sit at the couch and pulled up the plaid blanket from the gas station and handed it to him.

Clark couldn't help it. "You don't really think that, do you?" he asked, his voice serious.

Lois paused, looking back at him from the doorway through sleep-blurred eyes. "Why? Does it matter?" she grumped.

Clark just looked out the window. "I just thought you two were friends, that's all. He…he speaks very highly of you."

"Friends?" Lois frowned, rubbing her eyes. She was grumpy, she needed her morning coffee, and Superman had just near scared her out of her mind when she noticed he was gone. She didn't feel like talking about Clark Kent right now. "He's not a bad guy. Too naïve for his own good, and he's got a crush on me, you know? I think he thinks he's discrete about it, but it's just…awkward. He's too soft, and I'm way out of his league. You can't get more old-fashioned, tight-buttoned, or farmer-boy than Clark Kent." She peered at him, stifling a yawn. "But you know him. You should know that for yourself. I'm going to go get that coffee."

Clark let her go, feeling miserable.

They drank their coffee in silence. Lois was still in her morning mood, and Clark just didn't feel like saying anything. Lois wouldn't let him leave the sunlight even for breakfast, though he argued that he could make it into the kitchen well enough. They ate breakfast of fruit and toast, and then Clark told Lois he was tired and wanted to take a nap.

It wasn't entirely true. Sure, he was tired, but didn't feel like sleeping. So he lay on the couch, his eyes looking up through Lois's dusty window to the blue sky.

How he wanted to fly, right now. He took a deep breath, and the yearning filled every part of his body. He wanted to take off, forget it all. Just drift.

The world looked so nice, floating above it all. So nice, so long as he covered his ears.

He shuddered. He could hear them now--hear everyone that needed his help. Feel their cries, even without his 'super' hearing. He saw them through the television. He saw them in the desperate eyes of a woman that had fallen weeping over the body of a dead child in the ruins of her home.

He could feel Lois's wariness—the shadow of her soul, even as he saw it in her eyes. He could feel it in the whimpers of her sleep, in the pale, fearful look she got on her face whenever she thought he wasn't watching.

His fault.

And Superman was gone, for now. Maybe for good. But Lois still didn't care for him—Clark Kent. And that was all that was left. That was all he was, except for an increasingly flimsy façade.

He actually did fall asleep, eventually, and was surprised when he didn't wake until the sun was disappearing over the building adjacent to Lois's apartment. He woke up in a start, not remembering his dream but feeling a shadow of doom and terror clinging to his soul. Lois was not in the room.

Clark forced himself to keep calm. To breathe. To stand up slowly and limp out of the room at an unpanicked pace.

Calm. Just calm.

"Lois?" Why did his voice crack? He was all right. Lois was just right there. No need to shiver…

"Good morning, sleepy-head," Lois called from the counter. She was dressed in casual jeans and a blouse, but to Clark she had never looked better. He felt his body relax, even down to his toes. "You really are walking, aren't you?"

"Trying," Clark said, limping forward. Lois came forward to help him pull out a chair so he could sit at the table.

"I'm glad you're awake," she said. "I was just about to get out the ice water. You've been sleeping all day." Her eyes reflected that always-present concern despite her calm words. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah." At her unconvinced look, he admitted hesitantly. "Bad dream."

Lois nodded. "Well, if you're good enough to walk around already, I mean, your with leg…" She trailed off, feeling ill as she remembered why exactly his leg was injured in the first place. She swallowed, forcing down memories. "That's good. That's very good."

Clark's own face was pale as he was caught in the same nightmare as she. "Y-yeah."

She walked back to the counter with purpose, determined to brush away that shadow from her mind, and brandished a paper with phone numbers written on it.

"Okay. We've got Chinese take-out, Italian take-out, or we can order pizza. What's your choice?"

Clark lifted his injured arm onto the table and ran his hand over the cast. There was a faint tint of darkness to the underside where dark blood had long since dried. "Whatever you want, Lois."

Lois glared at him. "I told you what I wanted. I want Chinese take-out, Italian take-out, or pizza. Goodness, Superman, if you weren't the man of steel I'd tell you to grow a backbone!"

Clark blinked at her tone. But it did serve to bring him out of his dark thoughts, somewhat. "Uh…Italian is good, then."

"I should have guessed," Lois muttered, even as she lifted the phone to call. At Clark's confused look, she clarified: "Pasta, remember?"

Clark nodded slowly, his eyes darkening a shade. He didn't _want_ to, but he did certainly remember.

They both did.

So Lois called in an order, giving the person on the other end of the line a fake name and ordering enough, it seemed, to feed a small army.

Which might have been a good idea, Clark mused. He was actually _hungry._ It was a feeling he had almost forgotten, between time and nausea that made any food seem quite unappetizing.

Lois hung up the phone, looked at him for a moment, and then turned and began digging through one of her cupboards. After some cursings and general grumblings, she straightened, an old, falling-apart box in her hand.

"There!" she said. "Boggle. The game of the mind. I would have brought out scrabble, but I think Lucy stole it, and I don't understand why because she hates that game and isn't even that good at it. She just plays it to show off to her brainless arm-ornaments, not that they really can appreciate it anyway."

Clark almost smiled at Lois's babbling. At least, the corners of his lips turned up the slightest bit, and a small light appeared in his eyes.

"There we are!" Lois said, setting the game down with a slight flourish. "Involves no movement save with your pen. So no handicaps, and no excuses for you. Here." She handed him a small notepad and a pen. Clark took them with his uninjured arm.

"What about handicaps for everyone writing left-handed?"

"Nonsense," Lois said. "Knowing you, you _are_ left-handed. Or worse—ambidextrous!" She gave him a sideways look. "You know how to play?"

"Clark liked it," Clark said. "We played a couple of times. It wasn't too…interesting."

Which was true, he argued to himself. Boggle was one of his favorite games—he had used to play it late into the night with his parents, and had been the official founder of the Boggle Society of Smallville High. But that had started small and ended smaller. By the end it he had gone to the meeting place to find that he was alone in the empty classroom. He had played a few rounds alone for the fun of it. But, of course, he soon realized that there was no point and little fun in playing Boggle alone—he always ended up crossing off his own words, and no matter how much he cheated, he always lost.

Lois lifted an eyebrow. " Kent? Well, no wonder. Probably the only words he knew were things like 'farm' and 'corn.'" She shook the dice furiously. "This time you're playing with the master, flyboy."

She made sure all the cubes were lying flat, then set the game on the table between them, one hand on the cover as she looked at him, her eyes sharp with the no-lose spirit of Lois Lane.

"Don't you need a timer?" Clark asked.

"I've got my watch. Three minutes. I broke that cheap hourglass thing years ago. Ready? Set, go!" The shaded cover was cast aside, and Lois immediately hunched over her paper, shielding it protectively with one hand as she scribbled away furiously with the other.

Clark just watched her for a good thirty seconds of the time, then shook himself and began looking for words of his own. Lois slaughtered him—beating him twenty to a mere three points.

Lois looked satisfied, but she still made the effort to reach forward and pat his arm. "You'll get better, Superman. It just takes practice."

Clark looked back, holding his pen over his paper this time, his own dark eyes focused an intent—the perfect, serious Superman stare that made most criminals quake in their shoes.

"No onomatopoeias, acronyms, or abbreviations," Lois reminded him, her voice all business. "No foreign languages, either—that includes Krypontese, or whatever."

Clark gave her a closed look at that.

Lois beat him again—but barely, this time. They went into a third round facing off like gunmen across the table. Two pairs of dark eyes narrowed, pens held at ready, shoulders hunched over papers as if to shield their words from any possible intrusion.

Clark finished off the next round triumphantly, tossing his pen on the table as he leaned back with a smirk. Lois had had more words in the round, but Clark had barely pulled ahead with two words: "chance" and "chances." Lois positively fumed at that, especially since she was put behind only because "fiery" dared not be spelled with as "firey."

Clark reached up without thinking to adjust his glasses, then felt a shock as he realized they weren't there. He quickly changed the action to pushing a non-existent stray hair from his forehead, hoping that Lois hadn't noticed.

They played for a full hour and a half—pausing only briefly when there was a knock on the door. The two of them had frozen still, despite the fact that they were expecting take-out, and then Lois had risen, grabbed a pair of sunglasses and opened the door slowly. Of course, it was only their dinner arriving, but Clark hadn't been able to breath until the pale, skinny little kid that had brought the food had left. After that, they had eaten, then resumed their play.

They won and lost about the same, and rising to loud contests for and against words before diving for the dictionary that Lois had brought out in indignant righteousness to prove that weird was spelled "wierd"—only to be proven wrong. On the other hand, Lois refused to admit that "gat" was a real word, even though Clark argued that it _was_ a word (despite not being in the dictionary), though archaic in form. Clark decided it would be wise not to argue that one. Much. In the end he allowed her to scratch it from his list, even though he ended up winning that round anyway.

Lois beat Clark soundly for the first time since the very first round and paused to look at him. Even as he reached for the game to shake it up for a new match, his eyelids were drooping slightly and the hunch of his shoulders had gone beyond intense competition and into a world of weariness. She reached over and gently pried the game from his hand.

"That's enough, Kal-El," she said. "Time for you to go to bed."

As if on cue, Clark felt a yawn cracking at his jaw. He covered it with a large hand, embarrassed.

"You're just afraid to lose again," he teased, even while Lois came over to help him stand.

"Dream on, flyboy. You're heading downhill towards a brick wall, and I just swooped down to save you from crashing, at my own loss of trouncing you soundly once again."

Clark winced as his broken arm gave a slight twang, but managed to cover it up enough that Lois didn't seem to notice. He swallowed.

"Once again?" he said, glancing down at the papers now littering the tabletop. "By my count, I actually won more rounds than you."

Lois took a quick count and swore mentally. The man was right. Superman had won no more than one single round more than she had.

She stopped, torn between temptation, and Superman's eyes glimmered with humor as he saw the fight behind her eyes. She saw it and glared at him.

"Enjoy it, flyboy," she said. "It won't happen again."

TBC...

Review!


	19. Missing

I think the last two calm chapters made everyone a little anxious and impatient. But here we are, picking back up again. I just figured I'd give LnC a little break, as well as myself right before my finals started. But I took my first and hardest final today, and I feel surprising marvelous about it, so here we get back into it. Take that, Mathematical Proofs!

Anyway, enjoy.

Oh, and thanks for the review, oneredneckgoddess. It's nice to know someone's following the story from this site. ;)

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Chapter 19: Missing

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It was mid-morning. They had had a quiet breakfast at the breakfast table, and though Clark was had taken the trip over to the table slowly and gingerly, he had walked alone. Or limped, rather.

They had hardly spoken, content in the silence between them for now after another less-than-restful night. Lois finished her eggs—which she had been surprised to wake up to find Superman cooking for her (and it was surprisingly good, too)—and stood.

"I think I'd better call Perry, Kal-El."

Clark looked at her from his own breakfast. Real food tasted delicious, even after a couple days of being back on it, and he was savoring it. He didn't think he would ever miss a meal again, even if he did get all of his powers back and no longer needed it.

He just nodded. "No doubt they're worried about you." In truth, he was surprised and a little worried that Lois had stayed this hidden even these past two days. Lois was one that you didn't find sitting around, but the two of them had spent hours just resting, drifting, floating…alone, and trying to forget. It was a testimony of how much she had been shaken that she'd waited this long.

Lois herself had felt defended her fear of drawing attention to herself by calling the Planet or her parents and perhaps picking up the call, so she hadn't. And no one had bothered them yet, though both of them had started more than once at a growing fear as they looked towards the door. No one had come.

"I don't want them descending on this place like vultures," Lois said, chewing on her lip.

"I'm honestly surprised you haven't called someone before now," Clark admitted. "What about your parents?"

"I didn't want to talk to them," Lois said, her voice a bit hard. "They never see me when I'm well and fine. Why should they worry if I disappear for a few days? It's not like they would even notice, if it wasn't on the news or something."

Clark finished his breakfast and stood gingerly to put his dishes in the sink. Lois watched his careful movements, but leaped to her feet as Superman turned on the water and began rinsing the dirty dishes.

"Do you mind?" Lois demanded. "Must you always be so helpful? You make me feel like a first-rate laze. You're hurt still, no matter what you protest. Now give me that plate"—She grabbed it from his hand—"and go sit down. In the sun. Go. Shoo!"

Clark surrendered and fled with the remainder of his dignity, but as he lowered himself into the chair he felt restless despite his body's continued weakness. He knew Lois must be feeling the same way, if not worse. She had never taken a sick day in her life, if the rumors at the office were true (not counting days she didn't come in due to kidnapping, hostage situations, or other such usual events), and here she was going on her third day without any real work except to take care of a helpless (in her mind) man. Considering that he had spent most of the time sleeping, she must be going crazy.

Though she seemed strangely content, cleaning and tidying and fussing over him. She would make a great mother, Clark mused, no matter how much she protested the fact and worked to protect her mad-dog front.

The two of them were just alike, Clark thought. Both with secret identities. And here they both were together, only Lois was showing her real side, and Clark…well, it was Superman that was there, not Clark Kent. Not in Lois's mind.

Clark settled back in the uncomfortable couch, which they had dragged into the living room in front of one of the windows. Despite his restlessness, he felt tiredness coming upon him again. It served to frustrate him more, even as his eyes began to droop shut. He had slept more than a baby the last few days. He wasn't feeling nearly so bad, but there he was.

Lois watched Superman as he settled down at the couch with a sigh. She had no doubt that the man was going crazy. Did a superhero ever get a day off? No holidays, no weekends…accidents just didn't get put on hold. No doubt he was always getting interrupted in his "normal" life—that he always had something to do, and no time to rest. He couldn't be use to this, especially having to be taken care of. If anyone was independent, it was Superman—the man of steel.

But Kal-El—the man beneath that man of steel with the firm countenance—had a heart of mush. And he was surprisingly complacent, despite the clear discontent that he was too polite to give voice to. If she were him she'd be going mad.

There were no less than thirty-seven unchecked messages that Lois had chosen to ignore them the last couple days of recovery. Now, Lois decided to forego them altogether. She picked up the phone and rang Perry's number.

It rang three times before it was lifted.

"Hello. This is Perry White." His tone was wary, and he sounded as tired as Lois had ever heard.

Lois felt her words stick in her throat and she swallowed.

"Chief?"

There was a silence, then Lois heard Perry swear and beginning shouting at those around him to be shut up to be quiet, go away, and come back later. After a moment he spoke back into the phone.

"Lois, honey, is that you?"

Despite herself, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes at the sound of his voice. "It is, Perry."

"Where in Elvis's name have you been?" he demanded. "Are you all right? Is—"

"I'm fine, Chief. Just a…a little shaken."

Perry's tone was concerned. "What happened?" he asked. It was not like his mad-dog reporter to admit such a thing—even if it was true. "Where are you?"

"At home," she said, hesitantly. "I…just ran into some trouble, but everything's fine now."

"Is Clark okay?"

Lois was topped in her tracks at the question, and she stood silently, taking in the implications of it.

"Lois?" The chief's tone was tense—he took her silence to mean the very worst.

"I haven't seen him," she said. "Not since last Monday."

Perry swore. "Okay, Lois. We've got some police coming over to talk to you right now. We've had every man and dog out on the street looking for you—but Superman's gone MIA." There was a trace of a question at the end of that—it was a common belief that Lois knew the superhero better than anyone else—but Lois intentionally pretended not to hear it.

"No! I mean…Perry, I'd rather not talk to the police right now." Who knew what their true intentions were, and if they found Superman here… "You know it's…been a hard past couple of days." She hated playing the pity card, but there it was.

"Lois, we need a statement. Clark's been missing as long as you. We all figured he'd gone with you."

Oh no. Superman had had stronger ties with Clark than even Lois had had. What if Bureau 39 had caught him as well? What if he was still somewhere, locked in a white room, alone…Lois swore, paling. The innocent farm boy would be helpless against these monsters.

"Don't bother sending those officers, chief," Lois said, her tone suddenly grim, though her grip was white and shaking on the receiver. "I'll be at the Planet in fifteen minutes."

She didn't listen to his protests, but hung up the phone and sped to her room, grabbing the first pair of (non-heel) shoes and a comfortable blouse and dressier pair of work pants before going to the bathroom to change. In record speed she was back in the living room, combing out her hair quickly.

Clark hadn't moved from his place by the window, his body almost glowing in the light of the morning sun. He had been listening and watching, but as he saw her dressed for work and began to rise. He winced at the reminders of unhealed wounds and bruises.

"No—don't get up," Lois said, grabbing a spare purse and set of car keys. "I just called Perry White, and it turns out that Clark Kent went missing around the same time we did. I can't think anything but that Bureau 39 must have taken him as well."

Clark lowered back fully onto the couch, looking pale again. He swore.

Lois looked at him in consternation. It was the first time she had actually heard him swear, besides his pleading cries amidst horror and pain…but no. That was a different world, a different darkness in his eyes. No doubt he was worried for Clark—he had considered him a friend, after all, even if Kent had been a pushover and kept his distance for his own selfish safety.

That made her mad all over again, but the paleness and fear that Superman couldn't hide pushed that to the back of her mind.

Lois hesitated. "Will you…be okay?" she asked, suddenly doubtful of her plan. Physically, Superman was recovering at a mind-boggling and miraculous rate, though he was still far from 100. But to leave him alone…

And she didn't want to have to be away from him, either, she realized. So even while Superman gave a careful nod that he would be all right, his eyes far away, she felt her own fears rising.

She didn't want to leave him.

Lois came forward and hugged him—giving and taking comfort for a too-short minute before she pulled away.

"I'll be back at four, no matter what," she promised. "My number's by the phone—you do know how to use it, right?"

Clark just nodded again. Lois resisted the urge to hold him again and instead just reached up to brush his cheek—his hair was once again slicked back in his normal style, so there was no need to brush it from his eyes that any longer, even though the style was slightly mussed from his lounging on the couch, and the curl was sticking out at a funny angle.

There was a faint hint of stubble on his cheek once again. Not much, as Superman had assured her that his hair grew slower than a normal man's, but as Clark hadn't wanted to cut himself with the razor again—the nicks hadn't hurt much, but those little cuts bled like nothing else—he hadn't bothered to shave since the last time. Lois wondered for perhaps the millionth how he usually shaved, invulnerable as he was, but now was not the time. She'd have to put it aside for later…again.

"Don't open the door for anyone," she said. "If you need anything—anything at all—just call me. Try…try to hide your voice a bit, but…I'll be there."

Superman nodded one last time, wordless, but his eyes were overflowing with his thoughts.

Lois tore herself away from his soulful eyes and turned to go.

"Thank you, Lois," he said suddenly. Such small, short words carrying a world of emotion, experience, and memories of loneliness and anguish kept back by hope.

Lois smiled at him. "I'll see you later. Make sure you get plenty of sunlight. And don't you dare touch those dishes in the sink." And with that, she left.

TBC...

Please remember to review. Thank you.


	20. ET Phone Home

Hey, all. So yesterday was the first time I went for a day without posting a chapter since I started this story. Things got a little crazy, what with family, Christmas, and general Sunday stuff as a whole, and there were a few things I wanted to fix up a bit before posting.

So here we are. Hopefully it was worth the wait.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone--especially gonnabfamous07 and KC-piper-fan. Welcome to the insanity! It's always great to hear that I have some more readers out there!

And an extra thanks to oneredneckgoddess, who I can always count on for a review. Thank you.

Enjoy,

(Please remember to review)

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Chapter 20: ET Phone Home

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Clark heard the many bolts and locks slide into place behind Lois's departure and let out a long breath, staring at the door after her and wishing he could see through it—to watch her for every last moment until she disappeared even from his sight. He had never realized how blind and helpless he could feel without his special powers.

His _alien_ powers.

He stood slowly, testing the strength of his leg. It ached constantly and gave a sharp pang at every step, but the sunlight had worked miracles. He looked down at himself, taking in the slightly too-small sweat pants and the white t-shirt that clung to him almost as well as his suit.

He hesitated, overbalancing slightly and throwing out his good arm to support him against the couch.

Lois. She had done so much for him…risked so much for him, and it showed. It showed in the pain that lurked right behind her dark eyes, in the dark circles beneath her eyes, of the way she could be caught staring off into space, only to come to herself, a slightly confused and very relieved look on her face as she realized where she was.

And the nightmares. Those were the worst. Clark woke up last night to one of hers—to find her weeping in her sleep, her body stiff as a board as if she were mentally holding herself back—mentally breaking her soul to stay still. Then she had woken up, screaming, shouting obscenities, and then breaking down to weep as she realized that it was over.

All because of him.

She had done so much for him already; he had already been such a burden. And every moment here he brought her into greater danger. Bureau 39 hadn't even wanted her in the first place, and if they came here and he wasn't there they would probably leave her alone.

And if they started looking for him again, this might be one of the first places they would look.

Clark limped over to Lois's counter, finding a notebook and a pen. He stared at the paper for the longest while, the pen perched in his slightly shaking hand. Finally, he sighed and wrote two simple yet heartfelt words.

_Thank you_.

Not I love you. Just thank you. He could not burden her with anything more. He didn't deserve to love her, and it would only endanger her more, and he couldn't put her through that again…he wouldn't. She needed to move on her life. He knew she would be furious—she was Lois Lane—but maybe that would help her forget him. Much as it felt like he was ripping out his own heart, he knew she had to let him go. They couldn't go on like this, floating in a shadowed, haunted dream after the nightmare.

After all, she didn't even really know him. He was _Clark_, for heaven sakes. Not Kal-El, not Superman. Not an alien. Not him.

But he was. And as long as he was, that was just another reason for him to leave her.

Clark set the note on the table, moving a lamp over to hold it down, but made sure it was still clearly visible. He opened the window, shivering slightly despite the fact that the air wasn't that cold at all. He found some money rolled up in Lois's cupboard and took it, feeling bad but promising that he would return it as soon as he could.

His last stop was the bathroom. He rinsed his face, making himself look as good as he could, so that no one would think he was an escaped convict. His eyes were haunted, his cheeks slightly sunken, and his face still an unnatural pale even with the sunlight he had received. He ran a hand through his hair, this time fluffing it around his face. He actually managed a weak smile, but it looked odd under his bleak eyes. There was no chance of anyone mistaking him for the missing superhero, that was for sure.

He hoped.

Finally ready, he took a deep breath and turned to the door, unlocking the six locks and stepping into the hall after making sure that the one lock that could be locked from the inside was closed. He padded unsteadily down the hall, his bare feet cold on the floor.

He took the stairs, hoping to run into as few people as possible. The apartment was strangely quiet, and as he reached the ground floor it was all silent but for his panting, slightly pained breath. He readied himself and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

It was a slow part of the day for this part of Metropolis, but still a good few people were hurrying past him on the sidewalk. He flinched away at the sounds of the cars, talking, and the general hubbub of the city, even though it was nothing compared to what he could usually hear. Hesitantly, he stepped out of the shadows of Lois's apartment and into the sun.

He took two steps before someone bumped against him—quite unintentionally. Clark pulled back so quickly that he stumbled and almost fell.

"Sorry. S-so sorry," he stuttered. The man didn't even glance at him—he probably didn't even notice that he had bumped the tall, pale man with the shock of black hair, and if he did it was forgotten in a second.

Someone bumped against his back, uttering an angry mutter at blind side-walk hoggers. Clark again flinched away, his eyes averted, his hands trembling. Finally he made his way between two parked cars, escaping the rush of the human population, and raised a tentative arm to wave for a taxi.

It took him three tries to get a taxi—the first two not necessarily missing him but simply not wanting to stop for such a sorry-looking customer. The last taxi that stopped was foul-smelling and stifling, as if someone had been smoking heavily in the interior, and Clark actually hesitated to climb in as he opened the door.

"Hey, you comin' or aren't ya?" the driver growled. He was a grizzly, grey man, with bored but impatient eyes, and he was thin. Clark hesitated a second more, but then clambered in, wincing as he was forced to bring his large legs into the relatively small space of the back seat.

"S-sorry," he said.

"Where to?" the man asked bluntly, not caring. He wouldn't have even picked up the guy, but he looked desperate. "You got money?"

Clark nodded, a bit uncertainly. "Yeah." He gave him his address and sat back as the driver grunted and pushed the slightly run-down taxi forward.

Clark let out a breath, wiping his forehead with a shaking hand. He was going to be all right. He could feel the sunlight from the window on his skin—even through the filthy glass of the window. He could hear it all. He was going home. As Clark.

Superman was gone. And Clark honestly didn't know if he'd be back, or if he even cared.

When the cab finally stopped at his apartment he gave the cab driver enough money to pay for the ride and told him to keep the change. He didn't want to stay out here any longer than he had to—not even for the man to count the change.

He climbed out and the taxi drove out without a second glance. He stared up at his apartment, then began the slow and painful climb up the stairs to his apartment, and for the first time in his life he wondered why he _had_ to have a room on the top floor.

He was breathless by the time he reached his floor. He had dragged himself up the flights of stairs, grasping onto the handrail and shaking like an old man as he limped the last couple steps.

Clark fumbled his spare house key out from under the plant on his front doorstep. His hand was shaking from the effort of climbing the stair as he unlocked his door. He went in, closing it behind him quickly and letting out a shaking breath.

He looked around his apartment. It was awash in sunlight that immediately filled his being and limbs with much-needed strength, even while he shook slightly from the remnants of some not-so-distant terror.

He forced himself to breathe in slowly, then out again. He took a slow step further into the room, away from the door.

He was home. He had survived. The nightmare, it seemed, was finally over, as if it had never been.

Nothing had changed. His books were still lining his shelves, along with the many souvenirs of his world travels. Some dirty dishes from a meal that Clark couldn't remember cluttered the sink. He must have not taken the time to do them at superspeed before he'd left for work...and then been taken. Perhaps he'd been interrupted for a rescue, and not had time to finish them, he thought, though he couldn't remember. It was unusual for him to leave such a little thing undone, and it would take him much longer at regular speed, not even considering the energy he was loath to spend on _cleaning_, of all things, right now.

It didn't feel real. Clark felt like he was floating on a cloud of impossibility—that he would wake up in the white room, or on the metal table, the harsh white lights blinding him, all alone…

Lois…

It was quiet. Too quiet, after being out in the street with a tight clamp on his jumbled, frightened thoughts. Clark felt the walls of his apartment closing in about him.

He staggered quickly to the balcony, opening the door and stepping out into the bright sunlight. The door swung shut as he closed his eyes, gripping the wall of his patio as he turned his face upwards, basking in it.

It was over. It was over. He repeated it in his mind, his knuckles white from their grip on the stones. He could forget it, go back to being normal, go back to being _human_…

He shuddered.

No, he was not that. He was a freak. An _alien_. He didn't even know what that meant—even with the little he had found from Logram, he didn't know what was going to happen to him. Would he keel over tomorrow, and old man and dead of the old age of his species? He didn't know.

He got his energy from _the sun_, for crying out loud! He was no more human than…a plant! Or a tree. A tree with legs, pretending to be a human. Dressing as a human, speaking as a human…

Loving as a human, fearing as a human. _Feeling _as a human…

Did anything else matter?

Yes. He couldn't deny that now. Of course it mattered.

He needed to find out more. To find his spaceship that he had seen, in that warehouse he and Lois had broken into some months ago. Surely that, if anything, would have answers. Or that globe that he had taken, that was now hidden safely at his house…

There was so much he didn't know.

But what if they found him again?

A lance of pain shot up his right arm and he winced, loosening his grip on the wall as he instinctively clutched his injured arm to himself. He looked down at the blood-blackened cast, moving his fingers cautiously. They were stiff, and pain shot near his elbow as he twisted his wrist to look at them. Slowly, cautiously, he began unwrapping the bloodied cast.

The linen came away stiffly—flaking chips of dark red blood onto his white t-shirt and the sun-warmed patio beneath his bare feet. Clark continued to unwrap it, moving faster the closer to his skin he got. Finally he peeled the still damp, fetid inner wrappings away, feeling the warmth of the sun on his arm, and seeing it.

He had been too afraid to even think of looking before. Now, he pulled the last layer of hardened linen and looked down at his arm.

His skin was dark with the dried stain of his own blood, but worse than that was the mound of twisted flesh that marred his perfect skin. The skin was healed over, but raggedly, like an open aired mine where a part of a mountain had been ripped away. There was a low indentation in the center, filled with twisted skin, the broken folds dark with dried blood. The area was black and blue and tender—his very veins seemed dark and bruised, branching away from the tender area—and he felt that the slightest pressure might possibly break open the ugly wound, or perhaps break his bone clean through again, like a burnt shish-kabob stick.

He was tired. He pulled away from the edge and sat down in one of the deck chairs on the balcony. The view was perhaps wanting, but the sun could reach him here…and he could see the sky. The beautiful, lovely blue sky. The white there was so light and lovely, tinged with color and backed by blue...and the sun was soft and gentle yellow, like a loving caress.

There had been no blue in the white room. None but the blue of his suit, which was soon darkened by his own blood. He wanted to fly up into that blue…to feel nothing, to _be_ nothing. Not human, not alien, and not some messed up soul torn in between the two of them.

He sighed. His skin tingled with energy, the stinging of his arm had faded to a pleasant tingling sensation, even while the bruises remained stark and angry against his skin. But his mind was tired.

He turned away, stepping back inside and taking a deep breath before dialing his parents' number.

The phone rang. And rang, and rang. Finally Clark hung up and dialed it again, wondering if he might have accidentally pushed a wrong number.

No answer.

He looked at his phone stand for messages—but there were none. The light that should have alerted him to a new message was dark and silent.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. His parents. What if _they—_Bureau 39—had managed to track down some connection with Superman to them?

His hand was shaking as he dialed a less familiar number. This time the phone was picked up almost immediately.

"Daily Planet."

"Uh. Hi. I'm trying to reach the desk of Mr. White, please."

"One moment."

They put him on hold. Worse, there was some bland, empty elevator music that played in the earpiece of the phone as he waited. And waited. And waited. He slowly lowered himself onto his couch, holding the phone with both hands to try and still his shaking.

Then, the click as the phone was lifted again.

"I'm sorry. Mr. White is busy right now. If you leave your name and number…"

Clark blinked. No. He did not want to leave a name and number. He needed to know what had happened to his parents, and it seemed that if anyone knew, then Perry would.

"C-can you t-tell him this is Clark Kent? I—I think he might be looking for me."

There was no answer on the other line of the phone, but just a crash and a sudden silence as if the phone had been dropped in surprise. Then, a tumult of shouting—wherein Clark recognized the distant and muffled sound of the editor's loud voice.

"Uh…hello?" Clark tried. There was a fumbling sound on the other side of the line.

"Perry here. Kent, where in Graceland are you?"

Clark opened his mouth, but found that his voice had failed him. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed.

"I—I'm at my apartment, chief," he said. His voice cracked slightly, and he ducked his head. "Uh. Superman…he just dropped me off. He knew that I was c-caught by Bureau 39 and came and got me out." Not a lie, he told himself. Not really.

"Superman? Kent, did you say Superman?"

"Uh, yeah, Mr. White…"

"He's been missing for over a week, and everyone's been trying to figure out where he's got to. Well, did you get the exclusive?"

Clark was dumbfounded, overwhelmed by the demanding questions and the focus of them. He had hardly thought of an excuse for his— Clark's—absence, let alone Superman's. He just wanted to find out about his parents.

"Uh…"

"By the king, Kent. Don't tell me you let the exclusive slip through your fingers."

"I…didn't really take the time to ask. He…didn't stay long." Clark's voice was strained. His head was beginning to pound. He rubbed his forehead.

" Clark, you okay?" Perry asked, suddenly concerned. "Lois has got a few bruises, herself, but she says she's fine."

"Lois?" Clark asked on cue. He hated to play the fool, but it was necessary. Now more than ever.

Perry swore. "Goodness, Kent, both you and Lois disappeared around the same time last Monday. We've had the police crawling all over Metropolis looking for you"— Clark paled at that—"and now there's news that that government bureau you and Lois uncovered before you disappeared might be behind it all, and they're still after Superman. A good many of us were afraid they'd got him, I think, but it leaked that they found their hideout and caught the man in charge. Weird thing is, all evidence was gone, and the head hauncho ended up dead in jail just last night. So I'm going to want a full report to where you've been and what you figured out there."

"Uh..." Going in to work? Facing all the people? Pretending around Lois? Even if his strength was able to hold up that long, he didn't think his mind could take it. Not yet.

The head hauncho...dead in jail. Was that Logram? Clark's mind was spinning so fast that he was beginning to feel ill, so he pushed everything away until later and focused on the most important thing.

"Mr. White, have you heard from my parents?"

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Too long for Clark's comfort. His heart was choking his throat. "Mr. White?

"You haven't seen them yet?"

"No…" Clark said slowly. "They're in Metropolis?"

" Clark," the editor began, surprisingly gentle for his usually gruff tone. "It's your father." Clark's heart stopped beating. "He heard news that you were missing and collapsed—severe heart attack, the doctors said. They hurried him here to the Metropolis General, but he's in a bad way. Your mom's been staying at your apartment, whenever she leaves his side. I'm surprised she's not there now."

Clark didn't answer, the world falling out of focus before his eyes. Severe heart attack? He and his father had often joked about such a thing, but not like it could ever happen. But now he felt like he might be having one himself.

He became aware that he was still clasping the phone tightly against his ear, and Perry was calling his name, clearly worried.

"Yeah, Perry?" his voice was distant.

"Look, son, I want you to take a couple days off. If you have any information you can send it in and Lois can take care of it. She's in one of her moods, and I'll bet she wouldn't take another day off, especially now that the big guy's back. She just got away from those men herself, and it's like she's got three times as much fire from being locked away so long. It will help her keep busy."

"Okay, chief." The answer was perfunctory, numb.

"You sure you're okay, son?"

Clark nodded, and it was a sign of how truly out of it he was. He ran a shaking hand over his face. "Yeah. Do you have the number to my…my dad's hospital room?"

TBC...


	21. Are You My Mother?

MWhahahaha! Finals are done! Finals are done!

/ does a crazy-mad dance /

Thanks for the reviews, everyone.

Gonnabfamous, if I had the rest of the story written, I might actually consider sending the whole thing out here. As it is, I started this story about...say...22 days ago. Which means I've posted almost every single day, and so far there's...what? 55,000 words posted? With all that writing on top of the end of midterms, end of semester projects, and finals...come on, you've got to give me a little credit here. ;)

Well, I'm writing this as I go. We'll see where the wind takes us, hm?

Still, I'll try to keep up with more consistent updates for a while, though I am planning on going skiing on Thursday and so whether you'll get a chapter then is questionable. But now that finals are over I have a chance to write...after my Christmas shopping, going skiing, and...everything else. Valar, does nothing ever slow down?

Anyway, enjoy.

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Chapter 21: Are You My Mother?

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Clark looked around for a paper and pen. Usually he didn't keep one by the phone: he never had a need to, since his memory served him well enough that he usually didn't need to write things down. Finally finding a pen, and a scrap of paper from the corner of a notebook, he wrote down the number with a shaking hand, thanked Perry, and then hung up.

He moved over to the couch again, leaning against it and closing his eyes. His broad, strong shoulders hunched and his dark hair hung down as if to emphasize his too-pale face. His father was in the hospital. From the sound of Perry's voice, it wasn't looking good. Nothing was looking good.

"Clark?"

A soft voice spoke behind him, and a gentle arm brushed his back. He couldn't help his automatic reaction. He flinched back so violently that he lost his balance as he spun to face his presumed attacker. His bare foot caught the corner of the couch and he stumbled, catching himself as best as he could as he fell to the floor in a heap.

"No…" It was pleading, desperate…of endless whiteness and pain and fear. It bled through the single word and sank into the bookshelves, the floor, the walls, and into the small woman that stood before him now, one hand still outstretched from touching him.

"Clark!"

Martha fell down beside him, pushing the coffee table out of the way so she could better get to her son. She hugged him, and in his terror he wasn't even able to pull away as his body screamed him to do. To get away. This wasn't Lois. He needed Lois.

His mother held him tight, feeling the trembling through the thin cotton shirt. She had seen the defeated slump of his shoulders from behind, but now the haunted look into his pale and thin face shocked her into silence.

Slow recognition seeped through Clark's being, and with that, terror began to fade into relief. "M-mom?"

"Clark. _Clark. _I thought I'd lost you, my baby. Oh, Clark."

"I—I'm here, Mom." His voice choked. It was different—even more comforting than one of Lois's embrace, at the moment. Because this was his mother. The woman who had loved him from his first moments on this earth. The woman who had taught him, accepted him, loved him. His mother…she knew him. She knew him better than he knew himself. He carefully lifted his arms around her, feeling tears fall from his own eyes as she cried into his shoulder, her fingers clutching his shirt as if she might never let go.

He was distantly aware of the phone ringing insistently from where he had left it next to the note on the counter, but that didn't matter. Martha straightened after a moment, looking deep into his eyes as her fingers went up to hold his slightly scruffy face. Tears still drying on her cheeks, her expression changed from one of joy and relief to horror, underfed by a mother's fury at the sight of the fear in his eyes.

"Clark. What have they done to you?"

Clark pulled both his eyes and his face away. "I'm doing better," he said. He lifted himself up slowly—gingerly with his leg and arm, which were both complaining from the sudden movement and not-so-gentle fall.

Martha stood up with him, her mother's eyes seeing the careful way he was moving—and seeing beyond that, deeper. Tears leaked from her eyes again, but this one at his pain.

She moved forward—slowly, cautiously, as if she was afraid to make any sudden movements that would frighten him again. She reached her hand out, carefully taking hold of his right arm. Clark did nothing to stop her, but didn't meet her eyes as she lifted it, taking a full look at the angry coloration and uneven skin there. He hadn't yet washed off the blood from his cast, and it made dark smears across his skin.

Martha couldn't even swear—the only breath she had was let out in a faint gasp.

"Clark…"

Clark pulled away, putting a hand over the scar tissue as if covering it might erase the ugly picture from his mother's mind.

"S-sorry."

"No, no, no. What did they do to my baby?" She pulled him around so she looked right up into his dark eyes. "Who did this to you?"

"B-bureau 39," Clark said. "I…I don't really want to talk about it."

And he didn't. This world around him was already flickering with the memories of that darkest dream; it was too real already without telling about it now.

"Clark…"

"Please, Mom." It was not firm. If it had been—that firm, yet gentle voice that Martha knew her son could speak in…his Superman voice—her mind might have been soothed…at least a little. But this was a plea. And it raised flares in her mind.

She wrapped her arms around him. "They did that to you?" her voice trembled. His arm looked like some sort of war-wound—something horrible you heard about and saw in inhuman pictures, but never with your own eyes. And they had done that to her _son._

Clark shuddered. "Yes."

"W-what else?" It would be a lie if Martha said that she wasn't afraid to ask. She was terrified—shaking as bad as the boy in her arms.

Clark choked, the feel of his mother grounding him, holding him away from the darkness. "M-my leg," he murmured, closing his eyes. He spoke the words, but didn't feel them. Because as long as it was someone else he was talking about, he would be fine. "And my head—but that's feeling better, now."

"Oh, Clark."

"T-they hurt me, Mom. I—I just wanted to save Lois, but they had…they had kryptonite." It wasn't working. His breath was tightening and tears began to sting at his eyes as his mother held him. "Mom…" He choked. His legs weakened beneath him and he would have fallen, but Martha held him and helped him down to his knees, and she pulled him towards her, rocking him like she had when he was a child.

" Clark, baby. Clark…"

"I'm s-scared, Mom." He was crying in earnest now, shaking as the world seemed to tumble off his shoulders. He was safe, here. Safe with the only woman he had known as a mother. The woman who had created him—had made him, in every way that mattered…a _human._

"Oh, honey."

"I-I'm an a-alien, Mom. A…an alien." Clark cried through his staggered breath. "Th-they d-dissected m-me like a f-frog. Th-they said I wasn't human. Mom…." He shivered, holding her tight so that even had he even only had normal strength he would have hurt her…but he was weakened. And weakened even further by the sudden onslaught of memories.

Martha's heart felt as if it might crack in two. From the moment she had heard that Clark was missing her life had turned into a nightmare, but she had hoped that she might wake up to see all was well. That Clark was fine—perhaps he had gotten lost on a quick trip to Mars, or something, and taken his time coming back. That she would wake up in the morning and find Jonathan his usual, robust self—not the pale shadow of the man that now laid in the hospital.

This is what Jonathan had feared, or worse, from the first phone call from the Daily Planet that told him that Clark was missing. They had started out for Metropolis at once, even despite the fact that there was some chance that Clark was off dealing with some natural disaster—although there were none so big on the news right then. They just hoped that there was _something _they could do.

The Daily Planet seemed more of the headquarters for the search than the police station. Though Clark was yet relatively new there, his open and friendly manner had already won him a number of allies among his associates. Perry had Jimmy, the young copyboy, searching through every file he could for some clue, and the young man had gone forth on the job with extreme intent. He didn't even sleep the first couple nights, it seemed, for early in the morning when the Kents would drop by he would be hard at work at his computer—a cup of coffee at his side to aid him in his search.

And then, he had found it. Some significantly large financial movements in some accounts that Jimmy had been able to link to Bureau 39 during his research for Lois and Clark's last article. Money that had been donated by an anonymous source that Jimmy, for all his tries, hadn't been able to track. Jimmy held up the find with a cry of success. Superman also hadn't been seen since the two reporters' disappearance, and so the connection, it seemed, could be there. They had a lead at last.

They had phoned the Kents, who had been at Clark's apartment catching a few hours of sleep. Jonathan's expression had gone pasty. He had finished up the call and hung the phone up carefully. Then, he'd just said one thing:

"They're going to dissect my boy like a frog."

And then, he'd collapsed.

Martha had tried to keep up her flagging spirits, to keep on hoping that her little, perfect star from the heavens would be all right… but no. Jonathan had been right all along.

She held her boy, her precious, innocent son—her baby. How she wished it was those days when she could kiss a scraped knee (when he was quite young and still had to worry about such a thing), and he would be fine. No—this was out of her experience. She didn't know what to do, didn't know what she _could _do. Worse, she had a feeling that there was nothing really that she could do at all.

So she just rocked him and let Superman—the greatest American hero and the strongest known man on Earth—cry in the arms of his mother.

TBC...


	22. Helpless

Hey, all. Here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Please remember to review! ;)

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Chapter 22: Helpless

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Lois stalked into the bullpen of the Daily Planet. She stepped down the stairs and towards her desk, and no one dared move to intercept her. She felt slightly odd and out of place despite the familiar surroundings. Everything seemed exactly the same as she had left it. It felt like _something_ should be different. She strode right up to her desk, dropped off her purse, scanned quickly through the mail that had piled up there, then looked over at Clark Kent's desk.

His name plaque shone proudly above him immaculate desk. Eerie, that was what Lois thought. No man should be that tidy, that organized—that much of a mama's boy.

His computer was on, Lois noticed. She went over and shook his mouse, banishing the black screen of the sleeping computer to see the word document behind it.

It was an article. It was that cursed article about that pointless, nothing cornfest in Smallville. Lois had all but forgotten about it. She frowned as she read it. There was little written—only a couple paragraphs.

"Smallville embodies the spirit of the American small town. Its heart is not made of busy work schedules or deadlines, but around pe—"

It cut of in the middle of a sentence. Why in the world would someone—_anyone—_stop in the middle of a sentence—let alone a _word_? Feeling a chill, Lois minimized the window and straightened, even as Perry's door slammed open.

"Lane! In here now!"

Uh oh. Last name only? Perry must be in a mood.

So much for a cheery welcome.

She straightened and walked towards him calmly, taking her time. The man should know she couldn't be cowed, even as he stood bristling at his open door. She approached him, but went still as she saw the two officers standing behind him in his office.

"It's about time you got in here," Perry grumbled.

Lois was quite sure she had made the trip to the Planet in record time, but she wasn't in the mood to talk about specifics.

"You say Clark is missing, Perry?" She didn't know him _extremely _well, and the details seemed strangely fuzzed when she tried to think about him. But when she tried to think about the past—about the last few days, or even before that—Kal-El's face kept on popping up in her head. Kal-El's haunted eyes, his pale face, his fear, his guilt, the firm set of his jaw as they played Boggle…that slightest smile that had tried so hard to make itself shown despite the memories that haunted it—these were all she could see. So she just pushed it all away.

The point was that Kent was supposed to be her partner. Her junior partner. You looked after someone like that like a helpless puppy. A sometime frustrating, independent, very tall puppy, that sometimes you just wanted to string up by his ears, but a helpless one nonetheless.

"Yeah. Disappeared same day you did, and around same time, too, by everyone's estimate. I think we've all got questions for you."

Lois looked at the police guardedly. Their uniforms made her uneasy.

"What's there to say?" she said shortly. "I haven't seen Clark, I haven't seen Superman. I can give you the address where I was kidnapped, but I bet they're long gone by now."

"What did they want with you, then?" one of the officers asked.

"They wanted information on Superman," Lois said, her voice tense. "But they should have known that I didn't have anything on the man. He has only been around for a few months, and even if he has rescued me more times than the average working woman—what can I say? It's my job. But that's it. I guess they thought if they caught me they could draw me to them or something." Even as her words left her mouth, she remembered. He _had_ come from her. He had come with that terrible streak of blue, then the crack—Lois didn't think she'd ever forget that crack. And then seeing him for the first time…in _pain_. "So there. That's all I have to say. Now if you would excuse me," she said to the policemen. She turned to Perry.

"Miss Lane," one of the policemen said. "We have some other questions. We've been trying to find Mr. Kent, and something you might have seen or heard may be the key to finding him."

Just then Lois was torn in a most uncomfortable way. She could of a certainty reveal that she knew at least the general location of where they had been kept. She could tell them who had caught her, of Bureau 39, and of the newcomers who had raided the compound and captured Logram.

She could tell them everything.

But who would she risk? Would she risk Superman to find Clark Kent? Or would she risk taking longer to find Clark in order to protect Superman?

She felt sick. She shouldn't have to decide the fate of one man over another, especially such genuinely _good_ men like Clark and Superman.

"We need any information you might have," prompted one of the officers.

And Lois made her decision.

She looked back to him, her eyes narrowed. "You want information? Well, I've had people bugging me about information that I don't know for the past week now. I just got away from them, and I did _not _get away from those nutcases to walk into others! All I know is that these guys worked under Trask before he shot the gun. That's it. That's all. They wanted to get answers, not give them. So let me go to work."

So that was it. Superman would stay safe. And if Clark had fallen into the hands of this second government group along with Logram…

Lois shuddered. At least they wouldn't dissect Clark. And once Superman was well enough she'd come out with the full truth, if Clark hadn't been found by then.

She was being unreasonable in talking to the officers, and most certainly not telling the full truth, and the truth she _was_ telling wasn't very useful at all. She knew it, but she was being unreasonable for a reason, if that made sense.

She had to protect Kal-El.

The police tried a couple more times, but after being given similar clipped, irritated answers, they finally left. As soon as the door closed Lois turned on Perry, leaning over his desk and putting her hands palm down as if bracing herself.

"Okay, Perry. Tell me what you know."

The editor leaned back, looking at her. She was pale and to say she looked stressed would be an understatement.

"I think I'd rather first ask what you really know," he said slowly.

Lois tensed further, though Perry would have said that he wouldn't have thought it possible. She was bristling like a threatened porcupine over its babes, but there were no mini-porcupines in sight.

"Just tell me," Lois said, looking ready to extract the information by force, if need be. Perry decided not to risk it.

"Well, with the help of the police and Jimmy we've figured what you said—Bureau 39 and all," Perry said, watching her carefully. "We've got the military working with us now, honey. They came around just two days ago, said they'd found a base of theirs somewhere in the middle of Kansas. Picked up this guy there, too—some Dr. Logram, General McPheron said. Found some illegal stuff going on, so Logram got thrown in jail with the rest of his hoodlums. Seems like he was working under some mysterious benefactor that Henderson thinks might be behind half the crime in the city. But, well, they found the doctor and every single one of ten soldiers caught with him poisoned in their cells last night. I'll tell you what—whoever is behind this has more strings to pull than a spider in a web."

Lois listened with unchanging expression, her eyes narrow as she looked out the window unseeingly. So. The new government group went public, more or less. And this Boss…it all fit in with what she had heard. No doubt they were trying to draw her out of her comfort zone—to make her relax. Well, it wasn't going to work.

"No word on Superman?" Lois asked.

Perry shook his head. "None. That's just it—he disappeared around the exact same time as you and Clark." The question was in his tone again.

But she couldn't tell anyone—not even Perry. Superman was her secret. _Hers_.

"I'd best get to work then. Have Jimmy send me all we have, all right? We'll find Kent, Chief. We _will_." Too much had been lost already.

She turned to go, but Perry rose quickly. Lois paused, giving him an odd look as he came around the desk.

"Lois…well, you know, honey…we were really worried about you there. It's just…I'm glad you're back."

Lois smiled, just for him, though it was tired and short-lived. "Me too, Chief."

Then, on impulse, she reached forward and hugged the burly editor.

Perry was surprised, but his voice was rough as she pulled away.

"Well, then," he said gruffly. "Go on. This isn't a…a…" For once in his life, Perry failed to come up with an accurate comparison for lazing about in his workroom. "Well, then. Just go on, Lois. You're right. If anyone can find him, you can."

Lois went back to her desk and sat down. Her hands were shaking slightly, despite the strong façade she had put forward. She wanted to see Kal-El. She needed to see him. She needed to _hear_ him…

She looked at the phone, then glanced around the room. Nobody seemed to be watching her. In fact, they seemed to be studiously avoiding doing that very thing.

She reached for the phone, then stopped herself.

An hour. Give herself one hour of good Clark-hunting, then she would call him. If she heard his voice right now she might just break down and run home to him—no matter the consequences.

So Lois got to work. After a cheerful greeting from Jimmy that she brushed away in a short, business-like way, she demanded the records and information she had found. Jimmy returned promptly, and this time Lois noticed how tired the young man looked. Still, he seemed genuinely glad to see her, even despite her short temper. Lois made a mental note to be nicer to the young man in the future. That is, later—when she could spare the time.

She spent the next hour scanning the information, looking for any coincidence, any possible missed detail—any suspicious money transfers…_anything_. But no—everything significant led to the compound in Kansas.

There was nothing…_nothing_…about where Clark Kent could possibly be.

But on the other hand, how hard or expensive could it be to kidnap a normal man and hide him away? Metropolis was a big place, and all they needed was a little room in some warehouse basement. With Superman out of the picture, they could safely hide him _anywhere_.

She was on her third cup of coffee in an hour when Perry came over to her desk, set to muse over the details with her. It was irregular for the weathered newspaperman to work directly on a case, but this was one of his own reporters—this was _personal._ But even with their combined minds, bouncing ideas off each other, it seemed there was just nothing to go off on.

Lois couldn't help but think—what if Clark was no longer _in_ the hands of Bureau 39? What if this new and "heroic" rescue team of new government officials swooped in only to grab a potential hostage for themselves?

They were looking for Superman, too.

She had heard them.

"Chief! Phone call in your office!"

"Tell them I'm busy!" Perry hollered without looking up from the papers he was pouring over.

There was a pause.

"Chief!" the secretary's voice was almost a screech. "Mr. White! It's…it's…Clark Kent!"

Perry was out of the seat he had sequestered from Clark's desk and gripping the phone in less than a second.

"Transfer it here! And quiet, everyone! Quiet! Shut up over there. I want SILENCE!"

He put the phone to his ear as a most unnatural hush fell over the bullpen.

Lois had shot straight out of her desk at Clark's name. Now, she hovered at Perry's side, listening as she felt relief began to ease the grip of that well-known fear on her heart.

Clark was okay. She didn't need to worry about him any more.

She could go back to Kal-El. She felt sick; she needed to see him so badly.

She was taking an act of stepping back to her desk, set on taking the rest of the day off, and maybe the rest of the week. Surely Perry would be willing. He always tried to get rid of her after these sort of events, and it was almost the weekend anyway.

"Superman? Kent, did you say Superman?"

_Superman? _

Lois stopped. Her thoughts broke off like jagged ice, her feet stiffened on the ground, and her heart turned hard and cold. In sharp terror she turned around to stare at her editor, her face pale as snow.

"He's been missing for over a week, and everyone's been trying to figure out where he's got to. Well, did you get the exclusive?" Perry demanded, oblivious to Lois's near-panicked gaze.

She heard Clark's voice vaguely—a distant nothing in the still oddly-silent newsroom, but couldn't make out the words.

"By the king, Kent. Don't tell me you let the exclusive slip through your fingers."

_Kal-El. _

What? _Clark_ had seen Superman? But the man could hardly _walk_, let alone _fly._

Her phone called to her. Pulling her, demanding her attention. But she managed to hold still until Perry was off the phone, and she nearly tackled him.

"Clark said he saw Superman?" Lois demanded.

Perry nodded. "That's right. Said the big boy in blue swooped into wherever he was being held in and just carried him home." He scowled. "He missed the exclusive, though."

Lois didn't care at the moment. She had enough information to give Perry a hundred front-page exclusives, if she wanted. But most of that would never see the light of day.

"Lois, honey. You all right?"

Lois blinked. She had been staring distantly into the air. "Yeah. I—I'm feeling a bit off, Perry. I think…I think everything just…caught up with me. Do you mind if I—take the rest of the day off?"

Perry stared at her. "Are you okay, Lois?"

"I said I was," Lois snapped, but it was half-hearted. "Just…I'll be back in the morning, okay chief? I mean, the day's almost over anyway."

"Okay," Perry said slowly, even though it was still relatively early in the afternoon. "But…make sure to call your parents, okay? Your mother's been hounding me this whole last week, and your father hasn't been any better."

Lois nodded distractedly. "Okay," she said, turning back to her desk. She grabbed her purse and the stack of mail, then glanced back to make sure that Perry had moved on before picking up her phone and dialing Clark's number.

It rang, and rang, and rang. The receiver grew slick in her hand from nervous sweat.

But there was no answer.

Lois stared at the phone before hanging it up shakily.

But Clark had just _been_ there. He had just called Perry from his home.

Lois felt a chill.

She needed to see Superman. _Now._

She didn't even pause for the passing well-wishes and goodbyes. She got into the elevator and huddled in the farthest corner, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth against the nausea that was rising in her gut.

The streets were packed with afternoon traffic, and Lois had to try too many times for her liking to flag one down. She jumped in and gave her address, then sat against the door, looking out the window, shaking.

Looking at the skies, watching.

Just in case. Watching for the bright blue against the grey of the clouds.

Or white and blue, like the pajamas that Lois had bought him. She didn't know if he had a spare suit.

The thought of Superman flying around in pajamas, without emblem or cape, was an odd one. Where did he _get_ that suit anyway?

She paid the taxi driver and jumped out of the car without another word, then sprinted up the stairs. She saw her door, firmly closed, and felt the panic rise to a peak. She pulled at the spare keys she had taken from her house that morning, drawing them out to attack the locks and bolts that held her door.

But only one of them was locked.

It was the one that could be locked from the inside and still activate without a key. She opened it with shaking hands and threw the door open.

"Kal-El!" she called, throwing the door open so hard that it banged loudly against the wall.

He wasn't there. She could feel it as soon as she stepped into her apartment. Everything was still—quiet…as quiet as anything had been since the white room. Quiet as the time when Superman had stopped breathing, after the kryptonite x-rays had brought him so close to death. She walked forward, beginning to shake as she looked around the empty room.

The window was open slightly, causing the curtains to wave. A piece of paper on the table ruffled slightly, held down by a lamp so it wouldn't take flight and get lost. Lois lifted it with a shaking hand.

It was short, simple…saying so little and yet so much. The writing was neat, but slightly unsteady, and Lois knew that his hand had been shaking as he wrote it.

_Thank you_.

No signature, no more than that. And Superman was gone.

She stared at it for a long moment, torn between shock, fury, and panic. He couldn't have just left her like that. He couldn't have left her alone. If he felt up to it he might have flown off to save Clark, but…

_Clark_…

Oh, no. He had _said_ Superman had saved him. He had _said _so. He had been Superman's friend. Kal-El wouldn't have thought twice before opening the door for him—that was the kind of person he was. Trusting, even now.

What if Clark hadn't been rescued by Superman at all? What if…_they_…had let him go on conditions that they got Superman instead?

Lois swore desperately, wringing the note in her hand. She couldn't even tell if it was his hand-writing. She had never seen it, except in their game of Boggle, and it's not like it would be hard to forge or copy. And even if the words were simple and plain as Superman would have it, she had no idea whether he had written it or not, or under what conditions.

Knowing him, he might have even been so foolish to think that by leaving a note it might protect her—keep her from looking for him, even at the sacrifice of himself.

_Why was the door unlocked?_

If he had flown, he would have left through the window.

The note ripped in her hand. She turned back to the still open door, running into the hall and leaving the door ajar in her haste. She took the stairs, foregoing the elevator, and burst onto the rooftop of her apartment and looked up into the sky.

"SUPERMAN! SUPERMAN, HELP!" Her shout frightened a couple pigeons perched on the edge of the building into flight. "KAL-EL!"

Utter and complete silence answered her scream.

She yelled herself hoarse. She screamed until she tasted blood in her mouth. She pleaded, called, cried for him to answer, sinking onto the rooftop when her legs gave way beneath her. Finally, wasted and completely desolate, she dragged herself to the elevator and rode her way down to her room, slumped against the wall like desolation itself. She dragged herself into her apartment and closed the door limply behind her.

She stared around, standing in the dark stillness of her apartment—the place that had become so cheerful, so warm, so hopeful in the past couple days. But now it was just cold.

She felt sick.

The very thought that they might have him again, but alone. Alone in a white room, with only screams, and fear, and blood.

He was as good as dead. Or worse. It would be a _mercy_ if he were dead, rather than in the hands of those men again.

She shut her eyes and sat down on the couch by the window. The sunlight touched her face, and she remembered how he would sit there, his eyes shut, just soaking in the light like some sort of god.

A tear leaked from beneath a tightly-shut lids.

He didn't realize how much he meant to the world, to mankind, to _her._

She _couldn't _lose him now. She _couldn't._

She opened her eyes. A shaking hand wiped away the long tear there, and her eyes narrowed.

She _wouldn't_.

She stood, her mind fixed, and moved to the phone and lifted it, dialing the number of Clark Kent.

It rang and rang and rang.

No cursed answer.

The man was avoiding her. That traitorous, cowardly, selfish_…man _from Smallville was avoiding her!

She grabbed her purse and stalked out the door.

She was going to find Superman, and _no one _was getting in her way.

Least of all Clark Smallville Kent.

TBC...


	23. Mild Mannered Reporter

Thanks for the reviews everyone! And if things get too crazy for me to post another chapter before Monday (heaven forbid), Merry Christmas!

Please remember to review!

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Chapter 23: Mild-Mannered Reporter

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Martha refused to let Clark run off to see his father at once. After their tears dried up she sat him down at the table, fussing over him and demanding every detail so that she could make sure he was okay. It was shocking and horrific, and Martha felt like breaking into tears more than once, even though she was sure it was a _very_ watered-down version, knowing her Clark.

He went and showered as she moved about the kitchen to fix a small lunch, glad for the millionth time this last week that Clark kept his kitchen well stocked despite the fact that he needn't eat…that he got his energy from the _sun_. Martha wasn't sure what to think of that, but she decided she really didn't care. He was her _son_, and nothing else mattered, whether he ate frogs or soaked up sunlight like a tree.

She smiled slightly. There had been a time when he really had shot up like a tree. For a few months there she and Jonathan had worried that he might grow so tall so as to stand out as abnormal. Luckily, his growth spurt stopped, but still leaving him considerably taller than his schoolmates and sometimes downright clumsy about his new view of the world. A typical, awkward teenager—that had been her Clark.

Her smile faded as she listened to the shower going, and she stared at the wall for a long moment, seeing his face in her mind. He looked so tired, so…world-weary. Heaven help him recover from this, because she didn't know what to do.

Clark stepped out of the shower, his aches and pains soothed from the gentle thrum of the hot water and the steaming air in the bathroom around him. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, noting that they were considerably looser than the ones Lois had bought him, and not only because of the fact that Lois's size choice had been a little too small. No. He had lost weight.

He wiped the condensation from the mirror and froze in the act, staring at the dark-haired, pale creature that stared back at him with eyes that still seemed too big—too dark—for his weary face.

He pulled out a comb, watching the movements of the man in the glass carefully as the image raised its own comb in sync to comb out his hair. He combed it in his usual style—slightly back from his eyes, but more fluffed than Superman's. He pulled his glasses out and put them on, adjusting them slightly. They felt slightly uncomfortable after a whole week without them, but they were necessary. He looked back at the mirror, with its haunted staring eyes looking back at him, and stopped.

He started to shake.

Lois.

She knew that he was back, now, and knowing her, she would be all fire and ice to storm over here and demand his part of the story. She would be here—probably soon, now that Perry knew that he was there. That kind of news just didn't stay secret, especially at the Daily Planet.

And he couldn't see how in the world a little pair of glasses could hide from her the man that she'd spent the last week of her life with, saving his life a thousand times over.

Clark's breathing quickened. He could tell her. He had wanted to, in the white room, and only the safety of his parents had stopped him.

Now there was no reason not for her to find out. He knew that no matter what, she wouldn't sell him out. She'd proved that already.

But…Lois. Oh, Lois. Lois, Lois, Lois.

He was shaking so badly that he had to grab onto the counter to stabilize himself. The walls of his bathroom were white—too white. And for right now, there was nothing but hot, stuffy air and the sound of his lonely breath around him.

Lois!

He couldn't. She had done so much for him already. That was why he had left her in the first place. It wasn't safe. The last week had proved that more than ever. He couldn't risk getting close to anyone—especially her—because if something happened to her because of him, he knew it would kill him.

Besides, he was an alien.

He shook himself, but it felt more like an increased shiver next to his quivering. It didn't do much good.

He knew Lois. She'd throw everything to the wind, forgetting herself in a frenzy. Who knows—she might never recover, be able to live a normal life, if she realized her coworker was none other than Superman. He would have to move on, never see her again…

Better Lois's coworker, maybe even something approaching a friend, than never see her again.

The second option made his blood run cold. What if—oh, what if…

What if she turned him away?

Part of himself laughed at the thought. This was Lois. She had stuck through with him through this darkest part of his life. She had saved him, in more ways than one.

But if she rejected him now…he couldn't bear it. The very thought made his knees weak, and he leaned over the basin as if he were going to be ill.

No. He couldn't risk it. Not now. Not when he was so close to breaking already.

_Later_, he told himself in a last attempt to save his breakfast from the toilet bowl. Later he would think about this. Later he would decide, but right now the very thought of telling her sent up a wave of panic that froze him stone-still. So, along with everything these last weeks, he pushed it back and away, lurking just beyond his thoughts. Slowly his shaking calmed and he stood straight, looking back at the ghostly man in the mirror before him.

It was no good. Logram had seen him, the guards had seen him. They had seen _too much_ of him, and too much of Clark had been there in that white room with Lois and Superman. He needed to do something. Something _more_.

He took off his glasses, sticking them back on the shelf carefully, then reached farther back. He lifted some other frames—his old, thicker glasses. The ones with the heavy frames that had dominated his face since the beginning of high school, and were only replaced after graduation. The ones that had made him the geek of the school, the outcast of the "in" crowd. The ones that had made him normal.

He ran his fingers around the frames, then sat them on the cupboard. He reached up, pulling his hair down from its usual style, letting it hang more fully around his face, covering his brow. Then, carefully, he lifted his old glasses to his face and placed them on his nose.

Dark, haunted eyes vanished behind a thick pane of glass.

His window. His window to the outside, where he could hide and see them, but no one could see him.

He straightened, staring at the awkward looking man in the mirror before him. The frames weren't so monstrous as they had been in his younger days, but they were still quite large, hiding his features a hundred times better than his other glasses. Hiding, most of all, his eyes.

He frowned slightly at the mirror. No good. He lifted his eyebrows, then furrowed them, testing out the look. Finally he forced out a small smile.

No—too forced. In fact, it looked so ridiculous that a real smile began to grow out of it—the first real one in days. It started at the left corner of his mouth and twitched its way across. This only seemed to increase the phenomenon, and suddenly an awkward grin broke out on his face, though he didn't feel it inside.

He finished it up by lifting his hand and giving an awkward-looking wave to his reflection.

"C-Clark Kent," he said, testing it out, lifting his eyebrows. He projected his voice slightly higher, even than his usual Clark voice. "Hi."

He looked just like a nerd. A complete, utter, hopeless small-town boy. A hick from Smallville, just like Lois had said. The kind of guy you asked for ten bucks on the street because you know they'll give it to you with the slightest pity story, whether it was true or not. A pushover.

It was perfect.

He turned to the door and opened it, but caught his toe on the edge of the carpet and almost fell. It was an odd feeling—both the pain from the action and the fact that he had tripped at all. Usually he was careful enough to never even have to worry about tripping (not that a little piece of carpet was usually enough to get in his way without getting completely ripped apart anyway), but with his new look it felt…natural.

" Clark? Honey, you okay? You were in there a long time," his mom called, coming around the corner to look at him. She stopped, blinking at him. " Clark?"

"Y-yeah, Mom?" Yes, nervousness was good. Superman didn't get nervous. Lois might recognize a fearful stutter, but not _nervousness_.

Martha stared at her son. "Where are your glasses? And wha—why are you wearing your hair like that?"

"Is it that obvious?" Clark asked, reaching up to push his glasses farther up on his nose. He didn't want to make it blatantly clear that he was changing—to his mom, perhaps, but not to others. Especially not Lois. Sure, they might see the differences, but if it was too much they might get suspicious. And a suspicious Lois was the last thing he wanted.

"It's just…a step back, I think," Martha said. "Did you break your other glasses?"

Clark shook his head. "It…no. Just…a change." His mother waited. "To…to hide. Lois—you know, she saw…she saw more of me. I—I can't let her know."

"Why not?" Martha asked, putting her hands on her hips and looking at him in consternation. "I may not know the woman very well, but I liked what I saw of her, and seeing as she chose to stay with you, I think I like her even more." Her eyes suddenly narrowed. "What did she do?"

"N-nothing," Clark said, not meeting her eyes. "I…I just…don't want her to know. N-not yet."

Clark's mother looked at him sadly. "That's your choice, Clark." She wanted to pressure him, but he was clearly not in a state to be pressured—about anything.

They sat down and ate, keeping quiet for the most part, just grateful to be coming together in a shadowing world. Clark was helping his mother with dinner dishes (at his own insistence that he was well enough to do so), when there was a knock on the door.

Clark jumped, almost dropping the plate he had been drying. He had been enjoying the thoughtless normalcy of such a task, and the sound had startled him.

"S-sorry," he muttered, pushing his glasses up nervously as he carefully set the plate down and looked at the door apprehensively. He took a long breath, not letting him think that _they_ might be beyond that door…

Martha saw his still look and touched his arm gently. "Are you going to get that, Clark?"

Clark wanted to say a most firm, 'no.' He could think of few people that knew where he lived, or even bothered to know where he lived now. But he just adjusted the glasses and moved over slowly, climbing up the stairs. He hesitated, then reached forward to open the door.

Jimmy stood there, holding a sunken cake and looking at him out of bright eyes despite the dark circles under them from the stress of the last few days. The young man blinked at the sight of Clark, but nevertheless managed to give off a huge grin.

"Hey, CK! I brought you a little something I cooked up. You know, to say 'welcome back,' and all. The chief said you weren't coming in, but even though you've only been at the Planet a few months…you're already family, you know?"

Clark blinked at the sudden rush of nervous words. He adjusted his glasses again, then slowly reached out to take the offering from the young man, who was near bouncing with suppressed energy. The cake was still warm—almost hot, as if it were fresh out of the oven and perhaps pulled out a little too soon. Written in sloppy, melting frosting were the bold words: 'GLAD YOU'RE OKAY, CK." Clark wondered if the terrible rhyming job was intentional.

"T-thanks, Jimmy," he said, his voice shaking slightly. Jimmy looked at him a bit sideways, and Clark gave him a forced smile. "I…I really appreciate it."

"You look awful, CK. Lois doesn't even look as bad as you, and she looks like a hurricane on a bad hair day. Don't tell her I said that, though. And probably don't mention to her or Perry I stopped by, either. The Chief sent me home to get some sleep, but since you're back and all, I just thought to say…well…I'm glad you're all right, and all." He trailed off awkwardly, fidgeting. "Yeah, well, I hope your dad is doing better…"

Martha stepped to the door, then reached forward and gave the young man a big hug. He had helped them out a lot the past few days, and she had taken the young man under her wing as best she could in the chaos of the happenings. Jimmy cut off, blushing as Martha stepped back.

"He's doing about the same, Jimmy."

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said, strangely somber for his character. "It must be rough, to have to come back to something like that."

Clark struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. "Rough" was an understatement. He hadn't even seen his father, yet, but everyone spoke as if he were already on his death bed.

"We…we were just going to go see him," Clark said, his voice a bit shaky.

"Oh. Sorry. I should have figured...I guess I was lucky to catch you here at all," the copyboy stuttered. "I'll just be going then. See you later, CK. Ma Kent."

With another hug from Martha, causing him to turn bright red again, he stepped out. Clark was left blinking in the silence after the babble of words.

He looked down at the sloppy cake he held. "GLAD YOU'RE OKAY, CK." But was he okay? He didn't know.

"What a sweet boy," Martha said, following his suddenly somber gaze to the cake.

"Yeah," Clark replied absently. He looked up at her. "Can we go see Dad, now?"

TBC...


	24. Back to the White Room

For everyone that reviewed: Thanks!

For everyone who didn't: Please Do.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

(This is probably the last post until after Christmas, so enjoy. And please review. This is my Christmas present to you, and a review can be your present to me ;))

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Chapter 24: Back to the White Room

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Martha acquiesced to Clark's request hesitantly. She herself had hardly spent a few hours at a time away from Jonathan's bedside, but with Clark here, things were different. She noticed how tired he looked, how his limp became more pronounced the longer he stayed on his feet, and how he was growing increasingly pale as he moved. But she could see it in his eyes. He needed this.

So they walked together down the stairs, Martha worrying the whole way about straining Clark's leg (she hadn't seen it, but the image of his arm was burned deeply into her mind, and that was enough). She ran out to hail a taxi.

Twenty minutes later, they were walking down the hall of the hospital.

Clark kept his mind firmly focused on the present. On his mother, walking next to him as if ready to catch him in the rare event that he might fall. Of the increasing pain in his leg—of concentrating on keeping the limp as small as possible, lest she worry even more, though he was tired already from the motion and activity of the day.

He tried not to hear the silence, to feel the thick air, to see the white walls that closed in around him. It was too white. Too quiet. And Lois wasn't there.

A nurse walked across the hall with a tray of needles and Clark stopped stone-still in his tracks, his eyes widening and his breath stopping short as all intentions of calm and control flew out the window. He backed up automatically, stumbling slightly, but a wall was against his back and so he didn't fall, but leaned against it, trembling and pale.

Martha had been noting the rising tension in her tall son's frame, but hadn't been prepared to see such stark terror.

She caught his arm to keep him from falling right then. The nurse passed, too intent on her task to notice their distress.

" Clark!" Clark was shaking under her hand, and didn't seem to hear her. " Clark!"

Clark gave a soft whimper in the back of his throat. _Lois_. He needed Lois.

"Lois…"

" Clark. It's Mom. Look at me, honey."

"M-mom?"

Clark inhaled suddenly, straightening and blinking as one jerked suddenly from sleep. He looked down at one of his hands and stared at it as if surprised to find it shaking.

"S-sorry." He ducked his head and pushed up his glasses.

Martha had not let go of his arm. "Come on. I'm taking you back home. You're not ready for this."

"N-no," Clark said, and his voice was firm despite the slight shake in the beginning. "I need to see him, Mom. I need to do this."

He actually pulled away from her, straightening noticeably, and squaring his shoulders in a way that resembled his primary-colored counterpart.

He started down the hall again.

He didn't think. He didn't look at the beds around him. He didn't see the white. He didn't see the needles, the nurses, the doctors. He walked, unfeeling, unthinking. Just thinking about his Mom, and concentrating on the dull throb of his leg and arm.

It was enough.

Martha actually had to reach forward and stop him when they got to Jonathan's door. He blinked, getting that startled and haunted look in his eye again as he turned to look at the closed door before them.

Room 537. A white door.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Martha asked. "We can come back in the morning. You're all tired out."

Clark shook his head, brushing his hair slightly from his eyes with a shaking hand, but then realizing his reaction reached up and brushed it to the side rather than back, as he was prone to. His mother watched each slight movement, each dark flicker of his eyes, her heart heavy. But there was nothing she could do.

"I…I have to see him, Mom."

She didn't expect any other answer. In fact, if he had answered otherwise it would have scared her more than she could tell. That was Clark.

Martha nodded and pushed open the door.

The room was dark. Jonathan was sleeping limply on the hospital bed. Clark stopped on the threshold, a cold edge of fear creeping into his limbs and making them feel heavy.

It was a white room. The monitor marking his father's heart beat beeped away, and it had the smell—the sick smell. The hospital smell. That awful scent of disinfectant.

He felt himself taking a step backwards involuntarily, his breath quickening as his fear began to rise in panic. He grabbed onto the doorframe, feeling it, trying to drag his mind away from the white rooms and terrible memories of darkness—and physically anchoring himself from backing out of the room without realizing it.

His mom touched his arm. He flinched at the contact, but it helped to further ground him. He took a sharp breath, his eyes jerking to the present.

"Are you okay, honey?" Martha queried gently.

Clark nodded, though a cold sweat had broken out on his palms and his forehead and his leg and arm were throbbing as if in warning to tell him to get out of there. He knew his mom could see right through him, but with gentle brush against his shoulders she moved forward and laid a hand on Jonathan's brow.

"Jonathan?"

The man stirred. He looked old—like he had aged twenty years in the last week. He had lost weight and his formerly robust face looked wrinkled and pale. He drew a deep breath from the tube that fed him oxygen and opened his eyes slightly.

"Martha?" even his voice was reedy—not anything like the deep tone of the strong farmer of Smallville. "I…I told you to go and get some rest."

"I did," Martha said. "That was almost three hours ago."

Jonathan frowned slightly, his brow puckering in confusion. "T-time just seems to…to blur together in here, you know?"

Clark knew. He knew very well.

Jonathan seemed to slowly come to the realization that Martha wasn't the only one in the room with him. He looked up, squinting slightly against the light of the hallway which illuminated Clark's tall, dark form. His eyes widened as he recognized him.

" Clark?"

Clark forced himself deeper into the room. His breath was tightening in his chest, but he reached over to turn on the light.

Immediately he saw what made this white room so much different than the one in his memory. Cards, flowers, and get-well gifts from neighbors and friends abounded around the windowsill, the shelves, the bedside. They weren't expensive—indeed, more than one card was probably homemade and flower homegrown—but they gave a color and life to the room that was almost painfully different, especially against the pale visage of Jonathan's face.

He fixed his eyes on his dad's face and took another careful step forward. Jonathan's eyes were just as firmly fixed on his son's. He held out a hand, and Clark took it in his large grip as he sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"Dad."

He felt the awkward teenager again—the kid with developing powers. Throughout those years that are difficult even for the most normal human kid, his mom had made him feel loved—and his dad made him feel normal. Sure, he had his own little changes and challenges to overcome, but so did every boy teenager, his dad had told him. It was his dad that had taken him camping, played football with him when he couldn't risk playing with any kids his age for fear of accidentally doing something special. It was his dad that he had told his woes of teenage broken romance that he now realized was nothing more than an overgrown crush on his part. But that was normal.

"They did it, didn't they?" Jonathan's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Yet the tone was surprising—not weak, not angry, not afraid, but just calm and deep—almost like the voice of the strong, healthy man he had visited not two weeks ago in Smallville. Clark looked deep into his father's eyes and saw the sadness, but there was something deeper. "How bad?"

Clark swallowed. "I—I'm alive."

"I see that. How bad was it?"

Clark hesitated. What did his dad want to hear?

"Bad."

"You just got out?"

"Three days ago. Lois—Superman stayed at her house...recovering…" He trailed off.

"And you're walking already? That's good."

Clark blinked at the almost casual comment.

"I almost died," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Lois—Lois said that I practically did, for a moment. They—they used a…an x-ray…with…with kryptonite."

Martha gasped and grabbed onto the wall to support herself. He hadn't told her about that in his brief explanation, and she wondered what other horrors he might have hid from her.

Jonathan closed his eyes. His fingers tightened on Clark's as he took in his son's thinner form and pale expression. He had seen the way that his son had walked into the room, favoring his leg carefully. He had seen the barely-reined terror on his strong son's face.

Clark felt that his father's eyes going over him carefully, and felt that he could see right through him, taking in every bruise, every cut, every scar and scrape. Every sore rib, every fearful beat of his heart. And then, he looked back into his eyes, more deadly serious than he had ever seen him.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Clark stared at him. What kind of a question was that? He was going to forget it as best as he could—put it behind him, forget. Forget…

"The…the doctor responsible…he's dead." Perry had said that Logram was dead…poisoned in jail, mysteriously.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

The question again. His father's eyes were unwavering on him.

Clark didn't know what he wanted. "I'm going to forget about it," he said. "I—Clark Kent…he wasn't even supposed to have been there. Not really. So…" He trailed off.

Jonathan grunted slightly—a clear signal of disapproval. "Good luck with that."

"Jonathan," Martha said, surprised and dismayed, especially at the sudden uncertain look that came over Clark's face.

Clark felt sick. After all they had gone through, did his father not even care? Had he decided that he was just too much to worry about—too much of an alien to be scarred after what he had been through?

Jonathan seemed to recognize the fear, and his expression softened. His hand gave another squeeze to Clark's fingers.

"You can't forget something like this, Clark."

Suddenly, without warning, a flare of anger made Clark stand, wrenching his hand away from his father's. He almost overbalanced at the sharp stab of pain from his injured leg, but he grabbed the chair beside him and faced his father angrily.

"Don't you think I _know_," he hissed, his eyes flashing. Anger and fury, fed by days upon days of helplessness and despair, burned behind his dark eyes. "I _know_ that this will never leave me. It's in my dreams, when I walk outside, when I walk inside. I see green grass across the way and think of pain. I see a man walking down the street in a red shirt and see him bathed in blood. I see black death, white walls, white eyes, white faces, and I see pain, death, _fear_." His voice had shrunk into a harsh whisper. "But I can try. I can hope. That's _all_ that kept me alive, there—hope, and Lois. You _can't_ understand. But I can try to live, to forget, to pretend it was just a bad dream. Otherwise, it…it's too much. It—it's too much."

"What about Superman?" Jonathan asked softly, his eyes not wavering.

"I don't know," Clark said tightly. "I don't even know if he'll ever be back."

"So you're going to let them beat you? You're giving up?"

"I'm _surviving_. What do you want me to do? Track them down? Kill them?" It would be so easy, once he had his strength back. Hardly a flick of his finger—and their lights would vanish. The metal of the chair began to bend beneath Clark's fingers. He noticed and loosened his grip slightly—but just slightly. Dark memories assaulted him—anger raging with fear and white shadows.

Slowly they filtered away, fleeing behind Clark's eyes.

He stopped, looking suddenly shaken at his own outburst and thoughts. "But I—I can't do that. That…I can't." He couldn't. Even after everything that had happened, the very thought of…_killing_ someone, made him as nauseous as the thought of green light—no, more.

He would never be able to live with himself.

He peeled his fingers from the metal of the chair he had been gripping—the indentations left behind were not deep, and it would doubtful to be recognized for the fingermarks that they were.

And his fingers hurt like he had punched a wall.

It was a weird realization. Clearly his strength was returning, but not very consistently at all.

He wasn't ready to face this. He wasn't ready to be the alien right now. He just wanted to be Clark. Just Clark.

His mother was perched, looking just short of horrified. He looked at his father and was surprised to find tears rising in Jonathan's eyes.

"That's my boy," he whispered, sinking back into his pillows with a sigh. The conversation seemed to have sapped all the strength from him, and his voice was thin again.

Clark immediately was tired, and felt bad for letting his anger get the best of him. "I—I'm sorry, Dad. I—it's just…"

"Don't be sorry," Jonathan gruffed softly. "You came in here like a shadow. Scared me to death. Hardly recognized you, all hunched and dark and pale like that. Th-thought I was seeing a ghost or something, or that they might have beat your spirit, which is even worse. But…you're in there. You're still the boy we raised, no matter what they do and say. That's your true strength, Clark Kent. Not that you can lift rockets or bend metal with your bare hands—you're Clark. My son. A good, strong boy with good raising. No matter what, you're who you are. You'll be all right." He sighed again. "You'll be all right."

Clark wanted to cry.

"I…I wish I knew that, Dad."

"It's like what you said," Jonathan replied, his voice slurring slightly. "You can hope, Clark. That…that's really all of us have got. Don't you ever stop hoping. And with that hope, you do what you know is right. You might be the man of steel but your mother and I know you have the most gentle heart as anyone beneath that. Keep that heart, son. You were sent here for a reason. You can't let a little fear get in the way of the good you can do, or evil really does win, no matter how many times you're able to escape with your life." He smiled. "You'll be all right."

TBC...


	25. I'm Out of My Mind

Happy Post-Christmas, everyone. I hope you all had a good time while I was gone!

Thank you so much for the reviews. I tell you honestly, they made me just as excited as any real gift I got to open. So you'd still make my day if you kept up the reviewing and made it a tradition of a sort...;)

Anyway, hope you all have a great day. Enjoy,

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Chapter 25: I'm Out of My Mind

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Jonathan was tired, but he refused to let them stay—threatening in his thin voice to call security to drag them out, if he needed to. Martha was run down and near the breaking point from all the stress, and the last thing Clark needed was to stay up at the side of an old man. He needed a good meal, sleep, and something to keep his mind busy.

So they obeyed, though it was evening by the time they got home. Clark noticed the phone light blinking that he had a missed call—Lois. But there was no message. He bit his lip. Surely she wasn't in trouble. She was just calling after her junior partner—her slightly annoying, very naïve, and innocent partner who had a somewhat annoying and very obvious crush on her—to make sure he was all right. He called back, but there was no answer. He left a short message that he had noticed she called and forced himself not to worry. Forced himself to not run out and stop the first taxi he saw and go to her house, throw open her door and see her. To see her face, to let her hold him. To hold her back.

He forced himself not to think of her.

It didn't work very well.

Martha fixed up a simple meal of pasta—clearly trying to fix something that might cheer Clark up—and they ate in mostly silence.

After dinner, Clark went and stood under the last of the day's light until it faded into the night, his dark, deep eyes moving over the streets as far as he could see, and beyond, as the sunlight lit fire in his eyes like coals. For he had seen this city in its fullness, and he knew it. He could practically hear the sirens, the screams, the cries for help, even without his superhearing. But there was nothing he could do.

He returned inside, looking better but for the grim expression on his face. He turned on the TV and watched the news, his expression turning darker at each report of a crime, an accident, and especially at the news that a young girl had been kidnapped at gunpoint and the kidnapper had vanished.

Pain. White. Dark. Red. He saw it on the television. He had felt the fullness of the pain, the fear, the terror. He didn't want anyone to ever have to face it like he did. He wanted to end it. He needed to end it.

And he was the only one that could. Just not now.

Martha dragged him away from it. He hardly needed more dark thoughts to plague his dreams.

Clark typed up a quick outline of an article, unveiling the few facts that Clark Kent may have discovered during his supposed imprisonment. It wasn't much, but after he was done he sent it to Perry, then shut down his laptop, resolved not to think about it any more tonight.

Clark got ready for bed—pulling on some old, long pajamas that would fully hide both his leg and his arm and were actually too large for his frame at the moment—and offered to let his mom use the bed, but she said she'd be fine on the couch. It was more comfortable than the hospital beds, at least.

For all the good it did, for they hardly got an hour into the night before Clark woke up from a nightmare, crying for release from the pain and searching, searching, searching for Lois. But Lois wasn't there. His mother held him while he broke down weeping, calling Lois's name pleadingly.

She spent the rest of the night by his side, waking whenever Clark's frequent nightmares disrupted their sleep.

They both woke up early, unable to sleep any longer. Clark's mom waved him to the patio as she stumbled a bit blurrily over to the bathroom to shower. He took his thick, awkward glasses from the table beside the bed and put them on as he limped to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, then stepped outside, sitting back on one of the chairs as the sun rose over Metropolis.

He left the door open so he could hear the shower turn on. He actually wasn't feeling as tired as he had been, and as he _should_ have felt after the restless night, if he were a human. It looked like things were getting going back to normal. For him.

He closed his eyes, drinking in the sunlight and trying not to think about how very different that made him.

Sunlight for breakfast.

Sunshine cereal.

Good morning, sunshine.

For some reason that seemed strangely hilarious, after the long night, and Clark's lips actually curved in a slight smile to himself as he looked over the city.

It was quiet. The city was just waking up. He could hear the distant honking of some angry taxi, but it was over there, somewhere.

He felt more disconnected than…ever.

And the sun greeted him.

He'd always loved the sun. When he was young he used to sit and stare at it. His mom had tried to tell him that he was going to burn his eyes out, that he'd go blind.

He'd spent so much of his childhood outdoors. Laughing, working, playing…with his dad…all under the sun.

It was appropriate that it would be the sun, out of everything, that would give him his strength. At least it wasn't…slugs. Or something equally disgusting.

He knew so little about himself.

He rose, his limp considerably less pronounced as he went to his closet and pulled open the hidden compartment there. He paused to look at the spare suits hanging there, feeling almost like an intruder, then reached beyond them to the globe that lay nestled on a hidden shelf.

It was warm in his hand, as it always had been, and a faint, tickling thrumming coming from the heart of it.

Clark looked over it carefully, as he had often done since finding it in Bureau 39's warehouse. But he found nothing—the surface was smooth, with no outward functions other than changing to show the map of Krypton.

A baby's toy, perhaps? Some advanced alien type of rattle?

Just for the heck of it, he shook it gently, holding it up to his ear as if listening for something. There was nothing.

He lowered it slowly, feeling a bit ridiculous but disappointed nonetheless. He wished he knew where his spaceship had got to. He wanted answers. He _needed _answers. Answers to who he was—what he was; answers to why he was here, and whether he could ever be human enough to _be_ human again.

Someone knocked at the door. A short, quick, firm rap that sounded clearly throughout the quiet apartment.

Clark froze like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar—but no kid ever had that look of struggling and faint firmness and almost overwhelming fear in his eyes.

The knocking came again—impatient, and more insistent this time. Clark blinked, almost dropping the globe as he realized how incriminating it would be if someone were to walk in and see him holding it, especially with the suits hanging right before him. He fumbled with it, pushing it back into the closet and shutting the secret compartment tightly.

He stared at the door. Whoever was on the other side was knocking again—almost pounding, at this point. But he doubted that anyone coming to take him away again would have knocked in the first place, let alone this long.

He glanced towards the bathroom, where the shower was still running, and then moved slowly to the door, checking for the presence of his glasses and running a hand through his hair.

His eyes darkened and he straightened himself up, and even with the glasses it was recognizable as the classic Superman stance, though it seemed slightly less bold than before, and his hand shook slightly. He stared at the door strongly enough that one might wonder if he were seeing right through it, even without his superpowers.

He was in control.

He began to shrink, it seemed. His shoulders hunched slightly, his expression softened and his eyes widened with what might seem to be constant farm boy innocence.

Superman disappeared.

He was calm. He was Clark Kent—small town farm boy. He was a nerd, a geek, a bumbling fool. Let whoever was on the door think so.

He could do this.

With a deep breath, he adjusted his glasses, checked the looseness of the pajamas he wore, and moved forward to open the door.

Lois Lane stood on the doorstep, looking very, very impatient.

"Finally, Kent!" she snapped, brushing past him and inside. "I mean, what's wrong with you? It's not _that_ early. I thought you farm boys prided themselves on their early mornings. You should be up. There's work to be done."

Clark blinked, taken aback by the tornado that was Lois Lane. He glanced at the clock. It was just before six in the morning.

Lois was standing rod-straight, looking around the apartment as if searching for something. She turned sharply and pointed a finger at him.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Clark opened his mouth and shut it again, without saying anything. He glanced over at his phone, remembering her call the night before. The message light was blinking again, and Clark figured his mother must have taken it off the hook sometime during the night.

The hesitation was good for Clark Kent, even if it wasn't necessarily intentional.

"S-sorry," he murmured. "I—"

"I called you last night twice and you didn't answer. I stopped by and waited for an hour and you weren't here. Well?"

"Well, Lois, I—"

"I don't care," Lois cut him off, leaning close to him. "I want to know where Superman is, and what in the world you've done with him." Her voice actually cracked on the last word, and Clark realized through his still somewhat sleep-muddled and slightly-more-than-a-little-confused thoughts that Lois looked like she'd hardly gotten a minute of sleep. She looked about to crack, and was trembling slightly.

"I—I told Perry," Clark said, his own voice cracking, . "He…Superman just…he got me out and then…left."

It was so much harder lying to Lois than to Perry. But he could do it. And if he stuttered that was all right. He was Clark Kent.

"That's impossible!" Lois said, her voice turning more desperate. "He could hardly _walk_, let alone _fly_. And he wouldn't have just—" She cut off sharply, staring at Clark through narrowed eyes. _He wouldn't have just left like that_, she wanted to say, but if Clark truly hadn't known that Superman had been with her, then there was no need to tell him.

"Golly, Lois, I—" Clark grimaced. _Golly? Where in the world did _that_ come from?_

"'Golly,' Kent?" Lois reflected his thoughts exactly.

"Uh…" He managed a small, embarrassed smile.

"Well? Spit it out!"

"I—I haven't seen Superman, Lois. Not since…well, I told Perry. I mean, he didn't look his best, but…yeah. He didn't say much, and…and…" Clark shrugged helplessly, words getting the better of him.

Suddenly Lois stopped, growing still as if noticing something for the first time. An odd light glimmered in her eye.

"Who is in the shower?" she demanded.

"S-sorry?"

"The shower, Kent. Unless it's usual random strangers to just walk in and help themselves to your bathroom, you know who is in there."

Clark blinked. _Oh._ She thought _Superman _might be in his shower.

"My mom," he said.

"Your mom," Lois repeated dubiously.

"S-she's been staying in Metropolis and—"

The light vanished from Lois's eye. Of course. Clark had been missing too, and of course his old-town parents would have come to try and find him, pointless as it was. The bristling tiger returned.

"Very well," Lois interrupted him. "Now tell me about Superman."

"Lois, I—I—"

She looked at him, and Clark felt like she was looking at a slug stuck on the bottom of her foot.

"You wouldn't ever betray Superman, would you, Clark?" she asked, her voice now calm, but somehow ever more terrifying. Clark pushed his glasses farther up on his nose nervously.

"Of…of course not, Lois," he stuttered, and it was not so much of an act. She was suspecting _him_, of all people, surely…

She was suspecting _Clark Kent_ of betraying _Superman_. Did she really think so little of him?

Lois stared at him. And kept staring at him. Clark felt like he was under a microscope, and he felt the walls closing in around him.

But this was Lois. He wanted to reach out, to grab her hand. He wanted to let her hold him. He wanted to tell her about his father, that he was Superman…

White panic rose at that thought, threatening to pull both Clark and Superman into a void, and he scrambled away mentally, his eyes fixing on Lois's. Her eyes anchored him, as always. He breathed.

"I suppose I was a fool to think you might do something like that," Lois said, her shoulders slumping. She looked exhausted. "But… Clark, you know Superman. Where does he go? You know, when he's hurt?"

Clark stopped, caught like a deer in the headlights again. "Well, ah, Lois. You know, the man of steel and all. He…he doesn't get hurt all that often. And you know, I didn't even know him that well. Where…" He gave a nervous chuckle, pushing up his glasses. "Where did you get an idea like that?"

Lois's eyes narrowed again. "That's right. You're afraid. I knew I shouldn't have believed him when he said it was his idea to break off your friendship. You really are a coward."

Clark stood there awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. Yes, he was. But he couldn't risk telling her. He couldn't make her carry that burden. He couldn't risk losing her.

"You don't look half that bad."

Clark blinked out of his thoughts. "Sorry?"

"I believe Jimmy's exact words were, 'death warmed over,'" Lois said, making the quote signs in the air. "You look bad, but not that bad."

Clark blinked and adjusted his glasses. "Uh. Thanks, I guess."

"Don't let it go to your head," Lois said. She gave a heavy sigh, and for a moment Clark saw how tired she really was.

_His fault_.

He couldn't tell her.

_Coward_.

He shuddered. He couldn't deny it.

He looked at her and realized that she was giving him an intense look. Immediately jumping out of his thoughts, he stumbled down the stairs from his door, being extra careful not to limp. His leg was more stiff after waking up, before his morning sunbathe.

_You're a freak_.

He couldn't deny that either.

"C-can I get you some coffee?" he asked, hoping to ignore the condemning voice in his head.

"Sure," Lois said, looking noncommittal and too tired to care. She looked ready to collapse, and she walked over and lowered herself down to his table carefully.

She had come straight to Clark's apartment after finding Superman missing, though it had taken considerably longer thanks to an accident that looked like one that Lois was sure Superman would be at, if he even possibly could. The apartment had been empty and dark, and Lois had waited for over an hour until she had lost it and gone back to her apartment, hoping that maybe Superman had come back, if only to tell her goodbye in person.

But either he couldn't, or he wouldn't. Neither possibility made her feel much better than the other.

So she had paced, called around to Henderson, Perry, and even tracked down Bobby Bigmouth in an attempt to find of _some_ sighting of the superhero. When that came up fruitless, she had looked up everything she could on one General McPheron, who Perry had said had raided the compound in Kansas.

She had fallen asleep for maybe an hour over a list of McPheron's work, though there was little on him to go off on. Vietnam veteran, two-star general, done some work in the Middle East before coming home and putting a hand in homeland security. But there was no answer to any of her calls—probably because of the hour—and in the end she had just typed up a perfunctory article telling the barest details of her kidnapping (leaving out any mention of Superman's presence), then sent it to Perry with a note telling him that she would get Clark's side and get it ready for the morning edition.

She had gone outside and wandered under the night sky—she couldn't see any stars, due to the smog, and had even stopped at central park to call for Superman again, but to no avail. She moved on quickly before someone sent the cops to check for any trouble. She had come to herself as the morning began to break. She had come straight to Clark's apartment, and now here she was, exhausted both physically and emotionally.

Clark poured the coffee, trying to keep his hands from shaking too much. He could practically feel Lois's gaze on his back, measuring him up, finding the similarities. He was expecting a sudden screech any second now—an angry realization, a fury like the hottest flame. Surely she could see right through him.

The shower stopped, and Clark turned around slowly with the cups of coffee. He set one in front of Lois, but stayed standing himself, his large hands awkward around his own cup.

He tried not to stare at her—to keep his eyes on his glass, or on the table, or…elsewhere. But his eyes were drawn to her. He kept stealing glances, only to quickly look away again.

If Lois caught sight of one of them, surely she'd just blame it on Clark's "obvious, ridiculous crush."

She wasn't looking at him anymore, but stared out the window as she sipped at her drink.

She was beautiful. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her, even after less than a day.

She was right. She really _was_ way out of his league. Even she didn't realize how far out he was from her, no matter how hard he prayed, wished, hoped, tried…

It broke his heart.

"Where's your dad, Clark?" Lois asked suddenly, having noticed the absence. "Your mom didn't come up alone, did she?"

Clark sat down now, even more carefully than Lois had. He set the glass on the table before him as if afraid he might break it.

"He—he's in the hospital," Clark said, his voice intentionally higher than usual.

Lois's brow furrowed. "What happened?" she asked, reaching forward automatically to touch his arm—right below that ragged tear in his skin, which was hidden only by a thin cotton, loose but long-sleeved pajama shirt. Clark managed not to flinch, but pulled away from her and managed to make it look less like a recoiling. If she noticed that there would be no more hiding.

He didn't know if that last thought was longing or terrified.

"He, uh…had a heart attack," Clark said softly, looking away from her as he remembered his father the night before. His body seemed little more than a shell now—a feeble little shell housing his too-strong spirit. Clark shook his head slightly to banish the thoughts and took a deep drink of his coffee.

It was _hot_. It burned his tongue and he almost spat it out, and even though he managed to avoid doing that, his eyes watered as he swallowed and he choked, sputtering.

He stood, coughing, and Lois looked away, feeling her heart wrench.

She remembered Superman, choking on sobs, on tears, on anguish.

But this was _Clark_, for heaven sakes. He was choking on a bit of _coffee_. Was _everything_ going to remind her of him for the rest of her life?

_Where was he?_

"S-Sorry."

Lois suddenly had a mind to stand up and hit the man over the head. How _dare_ he sound so much like Superman? How _dare_ he apologize so much like him!?

She did stand, but she did not go so far as to actually strike the man.

She was going crazy. She just knew it. She looked around, and she felt _him_. She could practically feel his skin on hers. She could see his face before hers, and none others.

As she had been talking to Perry, as she had been talking to Bobby Bigmouth…as she had been walking the street alone, it was only _him_ that she could see, feel, hear…

Even Clark Kent, who was now and standing in his pajamas and now trying to dab at a spot of spilled coffee on his shirt, his cup forgotten on the table beside him. Even _he_ seemed to take a shade of the man of steel as he stood there, and he looked even geekier than she even remembered—though that might just be because she hadn't seen him in a week, and he just seemed that way beside the superhero. Or maybe it was because of the early hour, and he hadn't had time to de-geekify himself yet. Or it could just be the new glasses. He must have lost his others, or maybe he broke them. Or maybe it wasn't that at all, but his own experience with Bureau 39—he looked a lot more nervous than before, too, and a bit pale. But then, that might just be in her mind.

She was beginning to doubt everything around her, at this point.

"So, what did they do to you?" Lois demanded, folding her arms. "I need to know everything. Superman's still missing, and I'm going to find him."

Clark looked at her. His tongue _hurt_. How did everyone usually drink their coffee? He felt like his tongue and the back of his throat had been burned right through with acid.

No wonder why they always took so long to drink their coffee.

_They._ Them. Humans. People. His parents. Lois.

Not him. Well, usually not.

Was this usual? He thought back, trying to remember if he had ever burned himself drinking something when he was younger. Maybe a little bit, but not like this. He couldn't remember.

"I burned my tongue," Clark stated, wincing at the odd numbed/burning feeling.

Lois rolled her eyes. "Then get a drink of water. I mean, it's not normal for a man to try to chug his half-boiling coffee in one go." Clark nodded and pulled himself a new cup from the cupboard, then got a drink from the faucet obediently.

Lois watched him, noting how carefully he held the cup. He was really quite pale. She couldn't see through his thick glasses very well, but he looked tired. She suddenly felt bad for barging in on him like this.

And to come back and find that his father is in the hospital…Lois might not have cared too much, but Clark's parents had seemed like such nice people, even in the short time she had known them. And after all, they did raise the oldest Boy Scout in America.

"I'm sorry about your father. Will he…will he be all right?"

Clark took only a small sip of the cold water, winced, and then set the cup down next to his still-steaming coffee. He sat down slowly, and Lois followed suit.

"I…I don't know," he said, not letting the despair into his voice. He consciously lifted his voice higher, made the stutter more nervous than the deep emotions that shook his heart.

He wanted her to hold him.

"Clark? Honey? Who's there with you?"

Martha stepped out of the bathroom, dressed but with her hair still wet. She stopped as she saw Lois, looking between the two of them.

Clark stood, almost knocking the chair down behind him.

"Uh. Hi, mom."

"Mrs. Kent."

"Lois," Martha's eyebrows shot up and she looked at Clark, who gave a minute shake of his head. She didn't know.

"Sorry to come in so early," Lois said, glancing at the clock on the wall and blinking slightly as she realized how early it really was. "I just came to find out what happened with Clark and Bureau 39."

"There's really not much to tell," Clark said, with a deliberate shrug. "They asked me what I knew about Superman, but…well…"

Nerdy. Clark Kent the small-town farm boy. No fear. No pain. No white rooms.

Innocent.

"Yeah, yeah, you don't have anything to tell," Lois interrupted, irritated again. "Look, Clark, you can drop the act. I know that you traveled the world with Superman before coming to the Planet. I should have figured it out on my own. Where else would a farm boy get the guts and money to travel so much on his own?"

Martha's eyebrows were threatening to lift right from her brow. "Superman told you this?" she said. Clark looked away.

"Yeah," she ran a hand through her hair. "I…I'm just…I can't help but worry that something _happened _to him. Are you _sure_ he looked all right when he saved you, Clark?"

Clark pushed his glasses up as she turned to look at him. He didn't meet her eyes, for fear of her seeing inside of him. Seeing and knowing him.

She really was worried about Superman. Perhaps he should have left a better sign that he was all right—but then, what sign would have been good enough?

_Coward_.

"He looked…tired," Clark said, finally looking up to her. "That's…it's odd to see him look like that…" Her perfect eyes were looking at him, he was drowning in them. He looked away, blinking. "Did…did something happen?"

Lois looked at him carefully. Despite his nervousness, the man was so completely _sincere_. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to doubt his words.

And maybe she didn't have a need to. She didn't know how Superman's powers came back. Maybe they had returned suddenly, and Kal-El hadn't given a second thought before flying off to save Clark.

Maybe he had dropped Clark off, and then his powers had failed him again…leaving him stranded, somewhere…

But the note…clearly he hadn't meant to come back.

_How could he leave her like that?_

The phone rang, and Martha moved to get it, though she kept an eye on Lois and Clark as she did. But as soon as she answered it her eyes went unfocused as she stared unseeing at the wall. Clark saw the change and took a step forward.

"Okay. Okay. Thank you. We'll be down there as soon as we can." She hung up the phone with a shaking hand. She looked at her son numbly.

"Clark, that was the hospital," she said, her voice small. She suddenly looked all of her age and more. "Jonathan…he…he just passed into a coma."

Lois stood up. She hadn't realized how bad Clark's father's condition really was.

Clark looked about ready to fall over, and he caught himself on the edge of the table. His face was pale, his eyes wide behind those thick panes…

She couldn't help but see Kal-El. See his fear, see his pain.

She wanted to go to his side, hold him, and never ever ever let him go.

But this was _Clark_. Clark Kent, _not_ Superman.

She was going crazy.

"I'm sorry," Lois said, taking her purse. "I—I didn't realize…" Neither Martha or Clark looked at her, caught in a silent cold world of the news. "I'm sorry, I'll just go. I—I hope he…gets better."

Clark looked at her then, his dark eyes anguished. He didn't want her to go. He _needed _her, now more than ever.

He couldn't do that to her. He loved her too much, and his own love was too selfish for him to give himself to it.

"Thank you, Lois," he said softly.

Lois stopped in the middle of reaching for the doorknob.

_Kal-El._

"You know, for…uh…stopping by, and all," Clark finished nervously, pushing up his glasses. "And…I'm sure Superman will…I'm sure he's okay."

No. His voice was too high. And this was _Clark_.

She really _was_ going crazy.

Lois shook herself and turned around with a very fake, though small, smile on her face, but not for lack of trying. "Don't get used to it, Kent," she said, putting her hand on the doorknob. The smile dropped from her face as she looked at Clark, standing there in too-big pajamas and looking for all the world like an oversized 5-year-old. "Sorry."

She opened the door and left, feeling even more miserable than before, alone, and no closer to finding where Superman was.

TBC...


	26. Waking Up to a Bad Dream

Here's the next chapter, everyone. Thank you so much for the reviews.

Enjoy,

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Chapter 26: Waking Up to a Bad Dream

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Lois took the elevator of her apartment complex, stopping on her floor. She had full intentions to go to her apartment, change her clothes, and head straight to work, but the sound of shouting stopped her stand-still right after the elevator doors closed behind her.

"Now, don't you dare turn the blame around on me! You're the one that left—too busy off in your own version of Frankenstein's lab! Some father-figure you are!"

"Yes, and I'm sure that you were a much better example, passed out on the floor after one of your daily drunken fits!"

There, standing in the hall in front of her apartment, were Ellen and Sam Lane, both red in the face and screaming at the top of their lungs for the whole of the world to hear of Lois Lane's family problems.

"Mom! Dad! What are you doing?" Lois hissed, hurrying forward. She wanted to knock them both over their heads and send them on their ways. She had things to do, and their squabbling meant nothing to her right now, except to add to her headache that had been steadily growing since two o'clock earlier that morning.

Her mother turned with a cry. "Lois! We've been so _worried _about you!" She lunged at her to give her a hug.

It wasn't _his_ hug. It wasn't hisarms—his touch. It wasn't his eyes, watching her so closely, as if nothing else mattered in the world but her, and only her.

Lois had had her troubles with her mother for some years, and could honestly say that she experienced next-to-no homesickness when she had left home and gone out on her own. And seeing her now, when she was already tired, frustrated, and high-strung, was doing her no good at all.

"Well, there's no need," Lois said, walking right through her mother's embrace. "I'm here, but I have to run off to work, or I'm going to be late."

"Work?" Dr. Lane repeated. "They're not giving you any days off after this?"

"I don't want any work off," Lois said, digging through her purse for her keys. "If I took a day off for every death threat, kidnapping, or other dangerous warning sign, my whole career would be a vacation. Besides, I'm fine, and I have work to do."

"Ah, yes, you're fine," her mother said, her voice rising. "But do you bother to call us? No. We have to hear that you'd come back from that blasted newspaper you work for, and then you aren't even home at this time in the morning! Where were you anyway? You look awful."

_You look beautiful, _Superman had said, in that void of the white room. She had looked worse then, but he had still thought her beautiful.

"It's not like you missed me anyway," Lois spat, finding her keys at last and pulling them out with a furious jingle. "You found out I was back the same way you found out I was missing in the first place. It's fitting, if you ask me. I'll mark my life by the paper, and everything important I do will be tabbed by it until the day of my death. And I've been busy."

She pushed between them and began opening her locks. A few seconds later she pushed open her door. She barreled in and her parents glared at each other before Ellen pushed forward to beat Sam into the apartment. Lois didn't even look at them, but pressed into her room and closed the door behind her as she heard her parents' voices begin to rise again.

So different from his voice—so low, so gentle and soft.

She grabbed the things she needed for a shower and stepped back into the main room, ignoring her parents who were now busy arguing over something else—or maybe the same thing. Lois didn't really care. Her mind was busy elsewhere as she looked around at her apartment.

For the life of her, the sight of the empty couch sitting in the light of the sun made her heart ache.

Her mother seemed to notice the odd state of the room and turned on Lois.

"Why is your window broken? And why is your couch over there?"

"I lost my keys," Lois said, sounding annoyed but also somewhat tired, suddenly. "I had to get in somehow, and I didn't have time to bother with any locksmith."

She had stuck him in a closet. She had hid _Superman _in a closet, while she broke into her own apartment.

His eyes…so afraid, but he had still been trying to get up when she returned. He was stronger than anyone even knew. _Foolish man. _

"Are you okay?" Sam Lane asked.

"I'm fine," Lois snapped, gathering her irritation around her again. There was no need for them to come barging into her life now. There was no good they could do. She only needed one person, and she needed to find him. She headed towards the bathroom again and locked the door firmly behind her.

She showered, glad for the sound of the running water to block out whatever was going on in the next room.

Clark's parents had come all the way from Smallville, and despite the fact that Clark had gone through quite a bit himself, it seemed, and had to deal with his father's illness at the same time, Lois couldn't help but be jealous of him.

He had his mother. Lois hadn't known Martha Kent long, but she was the kind of mother she had always wanted. She was understanding, caring, accepting… Clark clearly cared for her as much as she cared for him, and they didn't mind showing it.

He wondered if _they_ ever fought. Somehow she doubted it. She just couldn't see Clark standing up to fight with his parents. Besides, he seemed just too polite to fight with _anyone_.

At least Clark had someone, now. As for Lois…even Superman had left her.

Who did _he_ have?

She shut off the water, dried herself off, but didn't unlock the bathroom door until she had finished with her hair, makeup, and everything else for work except her shoes, which she had forgotten to bring from her room.

She opened the door slowly, creeping out as if she might not be noticed, but the living room was almost eerily silent.

Like the white room. Like when he had stopped breathing. When she had found that he was gone…

She looked up, almost afraid to find the dead body of one, or maybe both, of her parents on the ground from their latest skirmish. Or maybe they had left, seeing as she _had _been in the bathroom for some time. But to her surprise they were both in the kitchen, each standing quite calmly if not exactly comfortably, and holding a separate cup of coffee. They looked at her, silent as she stared back.

"Lois," Ellen said softly, and a bit awkwardly. "I…we made you some coffee. And a bit of breakfast. Just some eggs and toast, before you head to work."

"We're sorry for…well," Sam tried. "We've just…you're our oldest daughter and…we know you have a tendency for trouble, but this is the first time…you went missing like that."

That wasn't exactly true, but perhaps it was the first time Lois being MIA had been reported in the paper while she was still actually missing. So to Sam Lane's knowledge, it _was_ the first time.

"We were really worried."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Lois blinked slowly, but didn't move beyond that. She had fallen in the shower and cracked her head. She was dying, and hallucinating. Or maybe she was already dead. Or maybe this was just a really strange, unreal dream.

She couldn't take kindness. Not now. She had to keep going.

Mad-Dog Lane.

"I'm fine. I've got to go to work," she said, trying for her frustration, irritation…all of that. Without that she was just too tired…

Her mother stepped forward. "Lois…"

"I said I'm all right," Lois said. "But my business with Bureau 39 is not over. I have a story to solve."

Superman was still in danger. And whoever was responsible for hurting him was still out there.

"What did they want you for anyway?" Sam interrupted. "This Bureau 39 place. Yesterday's paper said they wanted to question you about Superman."

"What if they did?" Lois said, allowing herself to get a bit defensive and thus a bit angry. Anger was good. It kept her going.

"It's not…_safe_ to be associated with him, clearly, if it's going to make you a target," Ellen said, though more gently than her ex-husband.

_Not safe_.

_Not safe to be associated with him_.

Like he was some sort of…_criminal_. Or some wild _animal_ with some sickly disease…

That was it. It was the perfect thing her mother could have said to make her very, very, very…

_Angry_.

Immediately all sign of exhaustion or uncertainty vanished. "_Not safe to be around him_," Lois snarled. "Why? Because he's an _alien?_ Or because he's a _good man_?"

"Well you have to admit that his _alien _status does have something to do with it!" Sam threw back, settling into the familiar mode of fiery argument with ease. "He's from a different _planet._ You don't know anything about him. How can you put yourself to such risk? I don't like the idea of you being a…a _friend_. He's an alien, and you can't know what he really wants, besides people like Bureau 39."

"You know, you are sounding a lot like Bureau 39 yourself right now!" Lois turned into her room, grabbing the first matching pair of shoes she saw and her purse.

Memories of her childhood crashed into her like waves against a white cliff. Memories of loud arguments, of empty houses, of loneliness, of tears against a damp pillow on a dark night.

They had never been there for her before. She didn't need them now.

She came back and brandished the shoes at her father, and though they were not stiletto heels she looked dangerous enough anyway.

"Listen, Daddy. I've tried to let you into my life for years now, but I'm through! You can't come barging in with your opinions and idiotic prejudice! You don't even know Superman. Don't you dare try to judge him!" She stomped past him and her mother both and opened the door to the hallway. How _could_ they judge him? They didn't know him. They hadn't heard him in the white room, as he tried to comfort Lois and wipe away her tears even as he suffered through agony and fear that no one—_no one—_should ever have to endure.

They hadn't seen the pain in his eyes. The selflessness, even through that fear.

_How dare they try to judge him_?

She turned back to them, her eyes blazing with fury. "Clean up after yourselves and make sure to lock up before you go."

And with that, she left.

She slammed her door behind her, and immediately heard her parents begin to shout at each other on the other side.

Something in her gave a slight twang, but she stifled it.

She didn't need them. And she had work to do.

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As soon as Lois left, Clark went to his room and clumsily pulled on a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, foregoing the tie and the usual vest and coat. Everything else was a blur of nothing until he and his mother arrived at the hospital and were escorted to the IC unit.

Jonathan had suffered another heart attack during the night before slipping into the current coma that held him under. The doctors said he didn't have much time left.

Clark hovered uncertainly above the washed-out body of the man he knew as his father. He watched him dying, helpless as his mother held Jonathan's hand and murmured soft nothings, her voice shaking.

There was nothing he could do.

Was this what it meant to feel normal? To feel so _helpless? _

The flowers around him seemed too bright for the white walls. The window to the outside revealed a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in a perfectly blue sky.

It should have been cloudy, stormy, or dark. Things shouldn't be so bright—not while Jonathan Kent lay dying.

Martha had him sit down, and together they talked to Jonathan. They talked about hard times, good times, happy times, sad times. Both she and Clark had to stop more than once due to the threatening of tears.

About the first time Clark had gone into superspeed, and Jonathan had had to search half the night to find the boy, who was huddled in a neighbor's cornfield, lost and terrified.

About watching football on their old television set, and the time when Clark got so excited he floated right up to the ceiling and broken his head clean through the plaster before realizing that his feet had even left the ground.

About countless evenings of laughing, talking, or just sitting there in loving, comfortable silence after a good day's work.

Words floated through Clark, hardly touching him--only brushing past before fading in empty air. He just watched his father. Watched the faint rise of his chest with each breath.

Clark felt like glass, sitting there. Brittle glass, heated so hot and then stuck under a stream of freezing water. He was going to break, to shatter, to scatter into a million pieces. He didn't know what he was going to do.

His life was falling apart.

He closed his eyes, trying to close in on himself, to not think of _now._ But he couldn't escape the pain. The pain of memories. The pain of what might be. The pain of white rooms, or the pain of happy laughter.

It was all the same.

He sat down for a time, but his hands began to shake and he felt numb—too numb. He stood, mentally pacing in a whirl of empty whiteness.

He didn't know what to do. To cry, to hope, to pray…

The short beeping of the heart monitor marked its steady beat. Like a distant drop of grains of sand, marking time in a shrinking hourglass.

An hour passed. Another hour trickled by. Clark's leg ached.

" Clark," Martha spoke, her voice soft and breaking. "Come sit down, Clark. Come and talk to him."

Clark hesitated. "I…I can't, Mom."

_It felt too much like goodbye._

"Come sit down, Clark."

_But even that kind of goodbye is better than none at all_.

He sat down next to his mother again, and reached forward with a shaking hand to take his father's.

His hand was cold.

"Dad," he whispered, reaching up to fix the covers a little higher. "D-dad, I—"

The heart-monitor beeped away.

"Can you hear me?"

They always said that they could.

"I—I love you, Dad. I…I might be a hero of the world, but…I'm nothing. You made me…you made me the man I am. I…I love you Dad."

Jonathan Kent's heart pattern flat-lined.

Clark stared, unmoving. The heart monitor was stuck on a long, terrible drone.

Time stopped.

He distantly felt hands lift him up, pull him away as nurses rushed in with a defibrillator. He felt his mother in his arms as they counted down the shocks.

Counting, waiting, balancing on the edge of nothing…

The heart monitor's terrible line stayed unbroken.

"He's gone," the doctor said. "Time of death: 8:43 am." He caught Clark's eye. "I'm sorry."

Jonathan Kent was dead—passed out of the world with his wife and his son by his side.

Gone.

Gone. Just like that, the strongest man Clark knew…was dead.

Just like that, there was one less person in the world who _knew_ him, who cared for him, who loved him.

Gone. Empty. Broken.

Shattered.

Martha collapsed in his arms, weeping, and Clark stood straight and tall, numb, but holding her, realizing for the first time how fragile his mother really was. His father was gone. His mother…he had to take care of her. He had to be strong, for her.

Even if it felt as if half of his heart had just been ripped from his chest.

He wanted to scream, to weep, to push off from the earth and disappear into the depths of space and vanish into nothing.

It couldn't be real. Everything had gone so fast…too fast…

Trask. Logram. Lois. His Father…

Screams. Painful shards of loss, of agony, of fear.

Innocence shattering into pieces of sharp white…

Flashes of black, white, green, grey, red…

A dream. A terrible, dark, hope-forsaken nightmare.

But no. It didn't fade. It was true.

And there was no waking up from this.

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Clark didn't remember later how they managed to get home. He was faintly aware of helping his mother down the hall, down the elevators, to a cab, of her helping him out of the car, up the stairs, and into his apartment.

He was distantly aware of how quiet his apartment was, and the seemingly loud click of the door as it closed behind them. He looked at his mother as she stepped slowly towards his couch to sit down. She looked pale and a hundred years older than her age.

It was ridiculous. He couldn't imagine his father just…not _being_ there.

It was almost laughable. Laughable in a bitter, helpless, terrible way that made him want to break out and scream and curse and weep. Just last week his father had been just fine. Just last week everything had been fine.

Now, where Jonathan Kent was there was just…_nothing_.

Just scraps. Some clothes, the farm, the house. Things carrying his ghost—the memories of him.

That was all he was now—nothing but memory, and that terrified Clark. Memories faded, grew potted, disappeared.

And he was just…_gone._

He would never see him again. Never ever evereverever.

He would never have his father over for dinner again, or be able to fly down to see him. He would never be able to go out to the barn and help him with the tractor. He would never be able to go home and have his father casually ask for some super help, and then listen to him crack a joke about it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

His mother. She was getting a bit older, too, but she still had a good many years ahead of her yet. She was alone, now, on that farm. Isolated. And for how long? Years? Even decades, sitting in that cold, empty kitchen—her husband dead and her son off saving the world?

He would never see his father at his wedding.

That thought stopped him short, tearing through him like a jagged knife. His father had always hoped that he might have a normal life. He had always wanted to settle down, to have a wife, kids…_family_.

But no. The alien nature that he had been uncertain of—that he had avoided thinking of besides a curious glance now and again—ripped away the greater chance of him being married at all. But even if he did, his father couldn't be there.

He would never be able to bounce Clark Jr. on his knee, like he had lightly teased Clark about.

But Clark had seen it. Jonathan Kent had wanted grandchildren as much as Clark wanted children.

So many dreams shattered. So many hopes torn into pieces and scattered into the air.

How did people _do _it? How did they go on? How did they _survive_? He had seen tragedy enough in his life, but he had never felt it so closely--it had never happened to _him_.

How did they do it?

Was it possible for Kryptonians to die of a broken heart?

He didn't know. But he couldn't. Even if it were possible, he couldn't.

_You'll be all right._

Clark leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes.

_I wish I knew that, Dad. _

_You'll be all right._

_But Mom… _

_You have the most gentle heart as anyone. Don't let a little fear get in the way of the good you can do. _

_I can try. I can hope… _

_That's your true strength, Clark Kent. My son. _

_Dad… _

He was gone. All that remained was memory, but those memories were so sharp Clark could almost feel his touch, hear his gentle yet somewhat gruff voice, see his strong face and loving eyes.

But he was gone.

_I can try. I can hope._ That was all he could do. Do what his father would want him to do…because he was his son. No matter what, he was his son.

TBC...

Please review!


	27. If Only You Knew

Whoa! So it took me a bit longer to write this chapter, as you can all tell, but it's 'super' long--around twice the length of a normal chapter for me--so I hope that will make up for it.

Thanks for the reviews everyone. It makes all the hard work worth it.

Life is crazy right now, so I'm not making any obligations for the next chapter except...well, look for it sometime this next week.

Please remember to review.

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Chapter 27: If Only You Knew

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Clark stood there, leaning against the wall for some time in silence until the ache in his leg began to grow sharp. He straightened, then limped over and sat beside his mother and held her.

Clark called Perry some time later, telling him of the news with a shaking voice, and telling him that he was going to Smallville for a few days, and was planning on staying around for a couple weeks to help his mom with the farm and to try and recover some control over his life. Perry wasn't pleased—Lois had come in the day before and seemed hard set on finding out who this "Boss" was, and finding where Superman was on top of that, and it was a big story even for Mad-Dog Lane. Clark reluctantly and guiltily offered to hand in his resignation, understanding that Perry could hardly let one of his reporters go for so long, but the editor was resistant.

"Listen, Kent. I didn't need you when I hired you. My budget was tight enough as it was, and I had a full staff. But you came bumbling in here and made me give you a job, and you know what? That's fine. The stories you've helped bring in have boosted our sells enough to make it worth it. So you go on and take care of what you need, but be back here by the 27th ready to get me some front-page exclusives."

The 27th. Two weeks and a day to recover.

Two weeks and a day to try and figure out the mess that had become his life.

Two weeks and a day without seeing Lois.

They spent most of the day catching phone call after phone call of condolences and well-wishes, and preparing to take Jonathan's body back to Smallville for his funeral. Both Martha and Clark switched off trying to take care of the other, both caught in a whirlwind of loss, yet concerned for the other at the same time.

Both of them insisted on making an early lunch while the other rested, but neither of them really felt like resting, so they ended up working together to make a simple meal that they ate mostly in silence.

Clark wasn't very hungry. He stirred the casserole around on his plate, perfunctorily bringing a bite to his mouth every once in a while. His apartment was quiet and still—even the world outside the open window seemed to be unnaturally silent, even as the sun grew high in the sky. He was stilled in his actions when his mother reached over and placed a frail hand on his. He looked up at her.

"Clark," Martha said. She hadn't eaten much either, but now her eyes were fixed on her son. She breathed in shakily. "Your father was very proud of you." She smiled around tears that threatened to trickle from her eyes.

Clark turned his hand over, taking his mother's in his own. "I know, Mom."

He sought for something to say in return. Some condolence, some reassurance, but nothing was forthcoming. He knew the love his parents had held for each other—each was incomplete without the other, and their bond had grown ever stronger over the years upon years that they had spent together. So he just took a deep breath and held his mother's hand with both of his as he leaned over to pull her into a wordless embrace.

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Lois arrived at work a bit late, ready for Perry to yell at her and stroke that defensive anger even hotter to drive her into her story, but to her surprise Perry didn't even seem to notice her entrance. He was talking on the phone in his office—the door was closed, and he seemed strangely grim.

Lois went to her desk, dropping off her things as she looked over at Clark's desk. She frowned at it, noting the still-surreal neatness.

He wasn't there. Of course, she didn't think he would be yet, if he had gone to the hospital to see his father. She looked back to Perry, who was nodding slowly with his ear still stuck to the phone.

She sat down slowly and turned on her computer, leaning back and glaring at the air as she began mentally sorting through the things she had to do.

She was going to track down the man responsible for hurting Superman.

Someone had stuck a printout beside her keyboard, and Lois glanced at it before picking it up. It was Clark's report of his being caught, and she was eager to find details that may help on the story.

She was quickly disappointed, however. Clark's report was a fast read and she tossed it aside once she was done. It was bland and useless—apparently Clark had been locked up almost the whole time, and the questions that he claimed he had been asked were almost the exact same as the ones Lois had made up for her report, as were his useless answers. All around, it was pretty dull, though Lois was perturbed to note that Clark's did have a more realistic feel to it. Of course, that was because his _was_ real, while hers most definitely wasn't, but she didn't want anyone else noticing that.

Still, it gave her nothing else to go off.

It was useless. He had been walking home when someone came up behind him and put some drug over his mouth, and that was it. He didn't even know where Superman saved him from.

_The man was probably too terrified to look_, Lois thought. She thought she remembered him mentioning disliking flying sometime. _Useless farm boy._

The brief thought of how odd it was to think of Clark flying with Superman crossed her mind. Clark was quite tall, and while his weight wouldn't have been an issue, it still was an odd picture to imagine. How in the world did Superman carry him?

She shook her head, taking the article in hand despite its uselessness. After a few phone calls to Henderson for some filler details she had a perfunctory article out and ready for the Planet's next edition.

She printed it and glanced up for Perry, but he was on the phone _still_—or maybe again. She hadn't been watching him enough to know if it was the same phone call.

"Jimmy!" Lois saw the junior photographer a couple desks down and shouted for him. "I want everything you have from your research on Bureau 39. I want to know everything about the conditions of Logram and his men's deaths, and a background check thorough enough to know the day they stopped using trainers." She stood. "Who has been covering this story while I was gone?"

It was Ralph, to Lois's displeasure. So she went over to him, and managed to endure his presence as she gathered the information he had. It was a mess, and made up a good ugly pile after he dumped it into her arms.

That, along with everything that Jimmy dumped onto her desk, made quite a formidable mountain.

Lois practically rubbed her hands together as she looked at it through narrowed eyes.

It was a puzzle. A broken picture, and all she had to do was put the pieces together to find the hidden man inside.

And she was going to. The inner mad dog was practically snarling with anticipation.

Once she found the man, he had better pray that Superman was back to his full strength to protect him, because only he would be strong enough to stop Lois from getting her hands on him first.

She glanced over at Perry's office and was glad to find him off the phone at last, and as she watched he waved a gaggle of reporters out of his office and sat down at his desk and began pouring over a layout. Lois swept over and opened the door without knocking. The editor looked up at her sharply.

"Lois. I was beginning to think that you weren't coming in today after all."

That was it. No shouting, no ranting, but he hadn't really checked on her since she'd come in either, and Lois had been there for a couple hours now.

"I said I was, chief, and so I am," Lois said. "I have to track down both this boss and Superman."

"Ah," Perry frowned. "Still no sign of him, then?"

Lois was starting to get annoyed at the assumption that she might know more about Superman than anyone else, even if it wasn't an exactly incorrect assumption.

"Where's Clark?" Lois demanded, not letting her voice soften.

"Just got off the phone with him," Perry said slowly. "His dad just passed away this morning."

Ouch. It made Lois angry that the news struck her to the heart. After all, it wasn't her business what happened with Clark Kent and his family, and it wasn't as if she feared daily losing her own father.

But still, for some reason the news hit her hard.

Lois dropped her article on Perry's desk. "There you go. Not a front page article, exactly, but something to say, 'this is what happened, and we're working on why' sort of thing."

Perry picked up the article, but just looked at Lois.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of convincing you to let Ralph continue on with this."

"Over my dead body," Lois said firmly. "Bureau 39 was my story, and it still is. That's it. The end."

"Kent's off to Smallville for a few days, Lois. It was his story too, and I don't feel good about you going off on your own."

"Hello?" Lois said, throwing up her arms. "Does Congo and weapon smugglers ring a bell? Car theft ring? Three Kerths, perhaps? And look at me. I'm fine. I got away from Bureau 39 _on my own_, I would like to say. I _hardly_ need Mr. Smallville to watch my back. If you don't remember, he certainly needed someone to save _him._"

Perry frowned. "Now that's what I don't get," he said, sitting back. "Superman disappears, then reappears to do a single rescue before disappearing again. Crime's shot up faster than a speeding bullet, if you don't mind me saying, and both the police and the fire force of the city are downright overwhelmed. Where is he?"

"I don't _know, _Perry!" Lois practically shouted, her own frustration growing as he ranted. The editor looked at her closely and tossed down her article.

"Well, then. Find out. If Bureau 39 really did have something to hurt him, I want to be the first to know. Got that, Lois?"

"I'll find him, chief," Lois said fervently.

"Well, I just got off of a good many phone calls myself. General McPheron's disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"That's the best word for it. Vanished. Gone underground. Him and his whole crew. Henderson doesn't even know where they went."

Lois felt a chill. That could certainly complicate things.

"Then that's just one more puzzle piece to figure out," Lois said. "And when we do…"

She was tempted to make a violent gesture in the air, but even as she trailed off she caught Perry's raised eyebrow and instead kept her hands still.

"Yeah. Well, you get to that—"

Somebody clapped a heavy hand on Lois's shoulder.

White rooms. Screams. Desperate helplessness in the face of his pain, his agony. Tears, sweat, blood…

Her reaction came without thought. She spun around, smacking the hand away and driving her elbow into her attacker's face. There was a yelp and he began to stagger back, but a quick swipe of his feet and he went down. Hard.

Lois froze as she looked down into the blinking expression of Jimmy Olsen.

"What in Elvis's name—!" Perry swore, jumping to his feet.

"Ow," Jimmy uttered, wincing as he brought a hand to his nose. His fingers came away red with bright blood. He blinked at it. "Ow."

Lois blinked, coming to drop down beside him. "Jimmy?" Her heart was beating so hard it was threatening to beat right out of her chest. The bright sky out the windows was spinning with the white room, and she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the blood on Jimmy's hand. Red blood. So red, just like Superman's. She swore. "J-Jimmy! Are you all right?" She pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to him with a shaking hand.

"What do you think you're doing, Lois?" Perry demanded. Lois winced as Perry put a hand on her shoulder as he knelt down beside her.

"S-sorry," Lois stuttered. "I—I didn't mean to. I mean…I didn't think."

"Ow," Jimmy uttered, but managed to talk with a bit of difficulty around the blood. "I—I'm all right." He looked up through watering eyes and saw Lois, kneeling pale as death at his side. "You should wear a warning sign, you know," he managed to joke.

Lois blinked, shaking for real now. "I'm sorry. I…I…"

"Can you stand, son?" Perry asked.

"Yeah—it's not too bad," Jimmy said, and began to stand with a brave wince. Perry helped him into the chair in front of his desk, and Lois stood unsteadily.

Perry seemed satisfied that Jimmy wasn't going to keel over dead, so he turned on Lois.

"What was that, Lois?" he demanded.

Lois held onto the desk to try and ground herself and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said, but much more firmly. "He startled me, that's all."

"I'd hate to see what you do when someone really scares you, then!" Perry exclaimed. He paused, giving her a close look. Lois was still pale, and though she seemed to have been able to still most of her shaking, her fingers quivered as she let go of the desk and folded her arms around herself.

"It's been a hard week," Lois said, and her voice shook the slightest bit. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."

"Don't worry about it," Jimmy said nobly, though his voice was muffled through her now-stained handkerchief. "I get worse than this playing basketball with Clark every Friday."

Somehow Lois doubted that. Despite his occasional clumsiness, Clark was more likely to hurt himself than those around him. She had a feeling that if Clark did indeed hit Jimmy bad enough to give him a bloody nose, Clark Kent would retire from basketball in a bumbling of guilt and apologies.

_Crazy man_.

Some things just happened. He shouldn't take everything so personally!

For some reason, thinking about Clark stirred up anger from the ashes of her quivering heart, and color came back into her face as she felt reality come down around her, strong and firm. White, red, and black vanished behind the thin veil that kept them at bay.

"I—I think I'll go wash up, chief," Jimmy said, standing.

"Sorry, Jimmy," Lois said, starting to feel like a broken record, but feeling like she needed to apologize again anyway.

"Really, Lois, it's okay," Jimmy insisted. "I mean, it's been a hard week for everyone. Just forget about it. It's fine."

He left, leaving Perry and Lois alone.

Perry stepped forward and closed the door before turning back to Lois.

"You all right, Lois?"

Lois drew herself up and managed to look defensive. "I'm fine, chief."

Perry sat down at his desk and gave her a long look. "Really, Lois."

"So I'm a little jumpy," Lois challenged. "So what? Anyone would be. You can't blame me, Perry."

"I'm not going to, and I doubt Jimmy is either," Perry said, his tone placating. He opened a drawer on his desk and Lois tensed automatically, but he only drew out a slip of paper.

_Duh_, _Lois._ She thought with a mental shake. It wasn't as if _Perry_ was going to draw a gun out on her.

"Lois, I've got the name and number of a woman who works with people who have been through high-stress situations like this. I want you to give her a call and set up an appointment."

Lois couldn't believe it. "You're sending me to a _shrink_?"

"No, not a shrink," Perry said carefully. "Just someone to talk to."

"I don't _need_ anyone to talk to."

"I say you do. And if you want to stay on this story, you'll be going to see her." He pushed the paper across the table. "Within the week, Lois," he said.

"But, Perry…"

"I can easily give this story to Ralph for good, Lois," Perry's stare was unwavering. Lois rolled her eyes, grabbed the paper, and followed in Jimmy's footsteps, slamming the door behind her and making the glass cage of the editor's office shake.

She was getting good at that.

She went back to her desk and started going through the files, trying to organize at least a little bit and trying to figure out where to start.

The ten men that had ended up dead in prison with Logram had nothing special on them—just the usual hoodlums dug up from fanatic corners of the U.S. Logram, however, Lois spent a little more time on.

He was from South Carolina. Graduated with a doctorate and did research for a while before heading to Metropolis with his wife and four kids. A perfect family. A perfect home. A perfect life.

And the four kids. The oldest was eleven, the youngest was five. Lois had talked to Henderson, who had met with the family, and none of the kids or the wife had seemed to have known a thing of Logram's crimes. In fact, the five-year-old boy was an avid Superman fan, apparently, as Henderson mentioned in passing. Henderson had come somewhat late and the boy had trotted into the room wearing Superman pajamas with a towel wrapped around his shoulders and his underwear over the pajama pants.

Logram's wife—his family—had had no idea.

Lois shivered.

You never could really know a person.

She worked on background for a time, then grew impatient and began calling down her contacts again. She spent an hour on the phone with everyone from Henderson, the mayor, and down to Bobby Bigmouth trying to track down where in the world McPheron and his government group disappeared to, but it led to nothing but dead ends.

Lois sat back after her latest useless lead some hours later and rubbed her head wearily. Despite her three cups of coffee already, her headache since early that morning was becoming hard to ignore.

Her phone rang. She glanced at it, annoyed at being disturbed, but then blinked as she saw the Caller ID.

"Lex Luthor, LexCorp."

Great. The man was probably coming after her with flowers and sweet sentiments again. That might have been nice before this whole thing happened, but now it all just seemed pointless and vapid. She had work to do.

Not to mention, after spending so much time with Kal-El, the thought of spending time with any other man felt...empty.

Lois stifled that thought angrily. She didn't need anyone. Not even Superman.

_Liar._

Fine. Then she was going to find him and string him up by his ears until he talked, if she had to use kryptonite to do it.

The thought was vicious, but immediately a chill fell over her anger as she shivered. A shadow passed over her face and she blinked at the air for a moment, caught in memory, before gritting her teeth and forcing herself into motion.

She reached forward and grabbed the phone.

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet."

"Lois, my dear, it's Lex."

She was _not_ his "dear." And did he always sound so condescending? He sounded so sickeningly sweet, after Superman's gentle voice.

"Lex," Lois deadpanned.

"Lois. I've been trying to call you all day."

"I've been working." Short and to the point.

"Ah, yes. No doubt you're searching for our local superhero. Any sign of out caped blue scout?"

Lois didn't know what to make of Lex's casual tone.

"None," Lois said. "Look, Lex, I know it's been a while, but I'm really busy right now."

"Lois, Lois, Lois. You've been missing, and I…well…" He gave a sort of chuckle. "I've been worried about you. How about dinner. Tonight."

"Lex, I'm on a story," Lois said.

"Of course. No doubt you're quite busy." That same tone again. He sounded almost…amused. "Busy tracking down Bureau 39 and their affiliates. Well, then. This Friday?"

"Lex…"

"I understand you're tired, Lois, but come now. Working yourself to death will hardly help you recover from your latest ordeal. Friday. I really insist."

"Not this week, Lex."

"Next Friday then."

"Fine, Lex, fine!" Lois said, almost desperate at this point. Her headache was growing to incredible proportions. "So long as nothing else comes up—"

"Friday. At six. I'll pick you up."

"Okay, Lex. I've got to go."

"Very well, Lois. I'll see you then."

Lois hung up and knocked her forehead against her desktop three times—or, rather, against the four-inch-thick pile of paper that covered her desktop.

Her head hurt, but it wasn't from the banging. She was tired, she was getting nowhere, and she had a dinner date with Lex Luthor in a little over a week. Before, the millionaire's attention had been flattering, but now it just felt bothersome.

And it also felt a bit like she was going behind Superman's back, but that was ridiculous. She _will_ have found him by then, and if she needed to she could always come up with some excuse to dodge Lex's advances, if she still didn't feel like going with him.

"Lois! Called that councilor yet?" Perry shouted from across the room.

Lois was very tempted to shout something not-very-nice-or-proper back in return, but she swallowed it, and chased away the temptation to bang her head against her desk a couple more times. That would only make Perry pressure her more to go to this _shrink _of his, or whatever he chose to call it.

"No, chief."

"Well, get on that. What have you been doing over there, lining up your date schedule? Get her on the phone and get an appointment by the end of today."

Lois wanted to smack him. Instead, she picked up the phone, and barely managed not to snap the receptionist's head off over the line as she set up an appointment for _this_ Friday evening. An added excuse for if Lex tried to move their dinner up a week.

She stood up, dropping the phone on its stand with a pointed look at Perry, but he had the nerve to not even notice her exaggerated gesture. She rolled her eyes and stood to stretch the kinks from her legs.

She cast a glance outside. It was rush hour outside, and the muted television sets throughout the newsroom were showing traffic and some accident on the highway. The work day was almost over.

Another day with no Superman.

Lois stretched. The day had gone quickly, and her head felt like it had been used as a hammer. Her eyes hurt from reading so much print, and she was hungry. She hadn't eaten breakfast, and lunch had been a quick stop at the vending machine. She needed to sleep on everything she had looked over, and tomorrow she was going to hit the streets.

Lois looked around the newsroom and stopped still as her eyes fell on Jimmy, and the man he was talking to. It actually took her a moment to recognize the man as none other than Clark Kent.

He looked _horrible._ His eyes were red-rimmed behind his glasses, though his hair was as carefully combed as Lois had ever seen it, and he wore each piece of his usual three-part suit. But all trace of any awkward bumbling was gone. He just looked tired.

……

After perhaps the longest day of his life, Clark had gathered the notes on Bureau 39 that had been laid out carefully over his desk from before his capture and headed to the Daily Planet to deliver them in person. He didn't know if there was anything of use that Lois didn't already know, and he hadn't really taken the time to sort through it, but at least he wouldn't feel as if he were just leaving her drifting. And—though he tried to tell himself that it wasn't a factor—he wanted to see Lois again before he left.

However, he had hardly stepped out of the elevator when he saw Jimmy Olsen, though he had almost not recognized him due to the large bruise that the young man sported across a swollen nose.

"J-Jimmy? What happened to you?"

Jimmy jumped, and his eyes widened. "CK! What are you doing here? The chief told us what happened. I thought you were heading to Smallville."

"We're catching a flight tomorrow morning," Clark said, his voice weary and soft despite his attempt to put aside the grief for now. The bruise was dark and painful looking—and it looked painfully fresh. "Wh—What happened? That looks awful, Jimmy."

Jimmy had fallen quiet for a moment, then reached up to touch the bruise gingerly. "Ah, well, it was nothing, Clark. Just ran into a file cabinet."

Jimmy was an even worse liar than he was, Clark decided. "That's one mean file cabinet," he said, lifting his eyebrows. "Who was swinging it around?"

Jimmy gave him a wide-eyed stare, shrugged and opened his mouth to formulate another bad story, and Clark looked at him closely. "Really, Jimmy. What happened?"

Jimmy closed his mouth, frowned slightly, then shrugged again, but less dramatically this time. "Well, I guess you're her partner, so it might be best to warn you, but I'm not blaming her at all, you know."

"It was L-Lois?" Clark said, startled. He pushed up his glasses, automatically standing a little straighter.

"Well, I kind of came up behind her and startled her, that's all. She's just a bit jumpy."

A bit jumpy? She must have knocked the kid flat with a hit to the face like that.

Just like the guard in the white room. The blood from his nose when Lois elbowed him. That and the soup on the wall had been the only break in that terrible white. That, and Lois.

But Jimmy's blood wasn't in the white room. In fact, besides the bruise, there was no blood at all.

But he didn't like the bruise. It looked too much like the color of his arm, or his leg. Bruised deep—deeper than flesh and bone.

"You okay, CK?" Jimmy asked.

Clark nodded, stepping back slightly to feel the cold wall against his back. There. Let that ground him.

"Is she—is Lois okay?" Clark ventured. She attacked _Jimmy_? It was absolutely ridiculous, but then again, Clark was getting nervous just standing there by the elevator, as people walked past him without looking at him or even brushing against him.

They were both a mess.

"She says she's fine. I've never seen her sit still for so long, though. Just been pouring over everything Ralph and I've got her. I said hi a couple times walking by, but I don't even think she noticed me." Jimmy frowned suddenly. "But here we are talking about Lois. Sorry, CK. You've had a hard day and here I am blabbing off about a little bruise."

Clark didn't correct him, seeing as it _was_ technically Clark who had started the conversation off. He was surprised by the easy way that Jimmy had dismissed Lois's actions. He would have thought that Lois would be in for a good deal of teasing.

But Jimmy must have realized that Lois didn't need that right now. The young man clearly saw more than he made out he did.

"I'm really sorry about your dad. He seemed like a great guy."

"He was, Jimmy," Clark said, dropping his eyes. "Thank you."

They stood there for a moment, Jimmy shifting awkwardly, then he clapped a hand on Clark's shoulder, making him flinch slightly.

"Yeah, well, sorry for keeping you, CK."

"It's all right, Jimmy, I'll…uh…just drop these off with Lois." He lifted his head, searching for her, though he already knew exactly where she was. Even without his superpowers, he could just _feel _her, standing there, watching him over the loud noise of the newsroom.

_Lois_.

He quickly tore his eyes away, adjusting his glasses as he stepped down the stairs towards her.

" Clark. I thought you would already be in Smallville by now."

"We…we're flying out in the morning," Clark said. He swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat. "I just…brought you my notes. You know, just in case anything comes in handy and all." He shrugged, just looking at her through his windows, through his safeguard, through the frames that made him a clumsy farmboy rather than a superman in Lois's eyes.

Lois looked at him, waiting, and Clark realized that he should probably give her his notes, which he was still holding under his arm and had made no move to retrieve.

"Oh. Sorry," he said, lifting the papers. "It—it's been a long day."

Lois didn't know what to say to that, so she just waited as Clark leafed through the binder. "I think this is everything I have on Bureau 39," Clark said, not meeting her eyes. "Information on Trask, funds, past affiliations..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry I…that is, for leaving, Lois."

"Don't be silly," Lois said, though her tone was somewhat softened by the man's appearance. "It's not your fault. Besides, it's not as if I need you to figure out this story. I used to fly solo all the time, and you just see that I can do it again."

Clark gave a weak smile at that. "Yeah…well, thank you, Lois."

Lois wanted to snap at him for that. Whatever was he thanking her for? This was her job, and it wasn't as if she were being kind to him. She still had work to do, and she was cold, mean, mad-dog Lane. _No one _should be thanking her right now.

Lois turned around and sat down at her computer and began paging through Clark's notes.

"Uh…bye, Lois," Clark said softly from behind her.

Lois didn't look up, but just lifted a hand and gave a short wave to acknowledge and dismiss him as she got to work.

Clark hovered there for a moment, his eyes running over the smooth fall of her hair, her shoulders, the concentrated set of her entire being despite the weariness that had grown there throughout the day.

Two weeks and a day without seeing her. Could he do it?

He couldn't allow himself to need her so much. He had to let her go, for both of their sakes.

He had to be strong, now more than ever.

Clark Kent left without a single word of farewell from his coworkers.

Lois continued to pour over Clark's notes. They were annoyingly organized. Didn't the man have anything better to do? Funds, profiles, background checks, and files on Trask and Bureau 39, all in neat order. Lois had seen most of it before, and paged through it relatively quickly, but then stopped as she ran across a financial listing near the back—in between the pages of Trask's biography.

It was out of place, and that more than anything first drew Lois's gaze. She pulled it out, glancing at it. It was a very thick bundle, paper-clipped together and dog-eared from being flipped through. It was a list of stores, companies, affiliations…and nothing she recognized as associated with Bureau 39. Clark's normally neat handwriting was scrawled in the margins, circling, marking…there didn't seem to be much order of it.

Ah. So maybe the man wasn't as organized as he liked to think. He'd dropped some old notes of some sort into his perfect pile and given it to Lois by mistake.

Lois pulled it out, trying to recognize what past story it might be a remnant of.

She didn't have to search far. There, at the top, was her answer.

_LexCorp._

Lex? Clark Kent wasn't _still_ obsessed about digging up dirt on Metropolis's local philanthropist?

"Give me a break," Lois muttered, tossing it aside with the rest of Clark's notes. She was _not_ in the mood to be thinking about a farm boy's ridiculous jealousy, even if his father just died. Some things just weren't excusable, no matter what.

Lois sighed and turned to her computer to gather up as many files as she could to take home with her. She didn't get far, however, before she paused. An envelope was slipped under the papers on the very corner of her desk, with just the corner peeking out. She pulled it out warily, noticing the lack of address, and opened it.

_Lois— _

_I'm sorry for leaving so quickly the other day. I really am all right, even though it will be some time before I can get back to my normal business. Thank you again for everything. Please don't worry about me._

_K.L. _

Behind the note fell out a small wad of money. Lois stared at the bills, stunned silence turning into fury. Was Superman actually trying to _pay _her for what had happened?

_Don't worry about him?_ Like she was some overstuffed mother hen that he could soothe! Well just watch her. She wasn't worried. She was just doing her own jolly old business, no matter what brainless, insensitive…_men_ dared think!

No. She was going to find out who was responsible. Not for him, but for _her._ After all, it was her _job_.

She stuffed the note and money back into the envelope and the whole mess into her purse. She shoved it under her desk and turned on her computer.

Superman had come _here_. When? Just barely, or before she had even come in today, and she just hadn't noticed the letter earlier? Or had he come in, and walked right by her, and she hadn't noticed? The thought that he might have been here made her heart ache. Why hadn't he said something? Had anyone seen him?

She glanced around workplace, which was in full hum with the usual approaching-deadline bustle.

No. Of course not. If Superman dared step _anywhere_ he would be mobbed by news people and citizens alike. That is, unless he wasn't recognized. Surely he wasn't still walking around in those too-small pajamas Lois had bought him. But no—surely the man had _some_ spare clothes _somewhere_.

Where did he keep the spare clothes? Where did he stay himself? The note said that he wasn't going to be back in his "normal business" for "some time." What did that mean? He had flown to save Clark, hadn't he? She didn't know how his powers returned, so maybe he could fly, but wasn't invulnerable yet or whatever. Who knew?

But at least he was okay. He had been here. He had touched the letter that she now held in her hand.

It made her heart settle slightly, even while she was filled with righteous indignation.

He was okay.

That was, until Lois got her hands on him.

"Jimmy!" Lois jumped up. The copyboy stopped short at her desk, in the middle of taking a too-big bite out of a large doughnut. She managed not to wince at the large bruise from her elbow. "Did you see anyone come by my desk earlier? Tall, dark-haired, a bit on the pale side?"

Jimmy struggled to swallow the large hunk of doughnut. He gave her an odd look. "You mean Clark?"

"_I _saw Clark," Lois said impatiently. "I'm talking about someone else. No glasses."

Jimmy frowned, still chewing. "I don't know, Lois," he said. "I mean, people come and go all the time, but really, besides Clark, I didn't notice anyone particular." He looked ready to go back to his doughnut, but paused long enough to give her a curious glance. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Lois said, waving him away impatiently and sitting down. Maybe Superman had got his superspeed back, and no one had noticed the odd gust of wind his passing would have caused. "Get me one of those, will you? A chocolate one. With sprinkles. And some coffee too."

"Magic word?" Jimmy prompted, taking another bite of his doughnut.

"Now, Jimmy, not in five minutes!" Lois snapped, not in the mood. Jimmy jumped to it.

"That works," he said, heading off obediently. So much for special treatment after unintentionally becoming Lois Lane's punching bag.

TBC…


	28. Goodbye

Another new chapter, friends! And if it weren't for chapter 27 then this one would be the longest I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you so very much for the reviews blah125, gonnabfamous07, KC-Piper-Fan, and oneredneckgoddess. I really look forward to them and appreciate them.

Anyway, enjoy,

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Chapter 28: Goodbye

-----------------------------------

Clark stood by his mother's side, but he wasn't looking towards the hall of people like the frail-looking woman beside him. He had both their carry-ons at his side and was staring out at the perfectly blue sky, watching the planes and they lifted off into the air.

Freedom.

The vent above him blew dusty terminal air into his face, brushing his dark hair from his face. He lifted his face towards it, and towards the sunlight that came down through the finger-smudged window pane.

Imagining. Flying. Forgetting.

Some children were playing by the window—a young girl around the age of six was trying to lift her four-year-old brother who was almost her own size so he could see the airplanes. Clark looked at them and a smallest smile brushed across his face.

Innocence.

It was what he needed to protect.

He was such a small thing in such a big world. One man, but one man with powers. They were coming back, and when he was back to normal--for him--_nothing_ could get in the way of protecting that innocence.

Not even himself.

It was too important. He knew that more than ever, now. He could help them. In many ways, he was the only one that could do it. So he had to. He _needed _to.

His mother touched his arm gently as their tickets were called to board. Clark hefted both of their carry-ons and followed her forward.

They checked in and made their way to their seats. His mother let him take the window seat—he had never liked flying on planes, but letting him watch the clouds as they passed them by always made it a little better.

He felt the plane humming alive around them. They pulled away from the terminal and wheeled onto the runway.

The engines roared, hurting his ears despite his lack of powers. The runway rushed by, trees, grass, people, cars blurred as they picked up speed.

They lifted off, wobbling slightly in the air as the buildings began to shrink into toys and then blur into nothing. Clark pressed his face against the glass, staring out as Metropolis shrank in his view.

Somewhere down there, Lois Lane was walking, standing, working, breathing. Searching for him, while he was right under her nose.

_Goodbye, Lois._

--------------------------

Lois hit the street early, grabbing a cab and directing them to Hobb's Bay and a certain grey warehouse there.

She looked out the window, not watching the city as gleaming office buildings faded into drab stores and then to warehouses. No, her eyes were glued to the sky.

_Where are you?_

She saw something—a dot, really, but it was there. She felt her heart lift with hope…

But no. It was just an airplane heading over and away from Metropolis.

She slumped back, disappointed, but her eyes still didn't leave the sky.

Somewhere out there, Superman was breathing, thinking, living.

He'd left her.

She told herself it didn't matter, even if it hurt. The man was too blockheaded for his own good, and she could make excuses if he was even more foolish than usual after…everything.

She'd find him.

He needed her as much as she needed him. He knew how much he needed her. Perhaps that was why he had left.

_I'll find you. _

_-------------------------_

Clark kept busy. It was perhaps the only thing that kept him from breaking—the only thing that kept him from thinking of his father, of Lois…of his fear.

It was the advantage of lacking superpowers. He could work all day until he was exhausted, even with his growing strength and speed day by day. And when he was tired he found there wasn't as much time to think, to feel, to _hurt_.

The day of Jonathan's funeral dawned bright and clear. Clark woke early to do all the morning chores, not allowing himself to think too closely on everything that had happened.

He was Superman. He had to be strong. His father would want him to be.

He took his time washing up and getting dressed, making sure every hair was in the right place, and that his suit was absolutely wrinkle-less.

It was his father's day. Today was for him.

He drove his mother to the church, where they were holding a small viewing and commemoration for Jonathan's life. Clark didn't cry. He stood and spoke a soft yet strong tribute for the only man he knew as his father. Superman stood and swore to let Jonathan Kent live on through his actions, even if no one recognized him except the small, trembling woman on the front pew.

Clark helped carry the heavy casket out into the hearse. The drive to the Smallville Cemetery was quiet. They gathered around the carefully dug hole, said a few last words, and Jonathan Kent disappeared into the earth for good.

_Goodbye_.

No more fishing trips. No more quiet man-to-man talks over coffee after Martha had gone to bed. No more cautions on the dangers of being found out, or the sympathizing with Clark after a difficult rescue.

There were some things that Clark just couldn't talk with his mother about.

He stood over the fresh grave as friends and family began to filter away with their last words of condolences. He stood alone, a bit on the pale side and his hands trembling slightly despite his resolve.

_Goodbye. You will live on through my works, Dad. Every rescue I make, every life I save, I'll think of you, pulling a little alien foundling out of a cold spaceship and giving him a home. _

_Giving me a home. Giving me a life._

Clark felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked back, almost knocking the glasses right from his own face before grabbing at them and pushing them back on. Jimmy Olsen stood behind him, though he had stepped back quickly at Clark's action and had a hand raised up before his face in some sort of awkward defense move.

"Whoa, CK," Jimmy said, with a small smile from the usually beaming photographer. He was complete with his camera, bow tie, and vest sweater, though his whole ensemble was appropriately somber, especially with the still colorful but slightly fading bruise across face. "I'm still recovering from Lois, here."

_Lois…_

"J-Jimmy," Clark stuttered, shaken despite himself. His heart felt like it had gone into superspeed, and tried to fly right out of his chest at the same time. "What are you—?"

Jimmy sobered further, letting his arm fall to his side. "Got to know your parents pretty well, those first few days, and after your father…well, your dad was a great guy," he fidgeted, slightly awkward, but completely sincere nonetheless. "I'm sorry, CK."

Clark felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed it with difficulty as he adjusted his coat with slightly shaking fingers. He hadn't really gone out of his way to befriend the young copyboy—not really. They had watched a movie together, some weeks ago, and played basketball once or twice, though Jimmy was not the most graceful on the court, and Clark had given him some pointers. But it must have drained Jimmy's savings fund to get him here, not to mention his favors fund that he always worked so hard to build up for Perry.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said. "I—I really appreciate it."

Jimmy gave a hesitant grin—unable to hide his pleasure despite the circumstance.

"W-when are you heading back?" Clark asked. He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself down.

He was outside. The blue sky wrapped its arms around him and weren't going to let him go. He was safe.

"Tomorrow morning—early," Jimmy said. "The Chief wouldn't let me go for more than a day, so I'll be leaving before the sun's up—farmer's hour, I think. Though that might be usual for around here. Anyway, he wants me back tomorrow by nine."

"Do you have a place to stay?" Clark asked, hesitant himself. "We—we could fix up a bed at my place, if you want."

Jimmy opened his mouth for a quick negative answer. He didn't want to be a burden, or to intrude on his difficult time, but Clark saw through him and spoke before he could.

"Really, Jimmy," he said, sincere despite the fact that he was still feeling a bit shaky from Jimmy's startling clap on his arm. "It...it would help to have people around, you know?"

_People around to distract him from the memories_.

Jimmy grinned. "Sure, CK. If…if that's all right, that is."

It did help to have Jimmy along. Martha welcomed him with a long hug and another kiss on his cheek, which sent the young man into a furious blush. Martha demanded after the bruise, but Jimmy waved it away just like he had tried to with Clark, and Martha let it go, though not until after a little fussing as they rode together to the Kent farm.

"We…we really appreciate you coming all the way here, Jimmy," Clark said as he pulled into their long driveway. "Honestly, though, I won't say I'm not a little surprised to see you."

Jimmy shrugged and looked uncomfortable in the back seat of the truck. "Well, CK," he started slowly. "You know, my mom died a few good years ago, and my dad…well…I haven't heard from him in years." He fidgeted. "I know I, you know, have a little less experience than most at the Daily Planet, and…well, sometimes I just think I get on people's nerves, like Lois." He ducked his head slightly. "I know we've only known each other a few months, CK, but you're…well, you're like a big brother to me, you know?"

Clark pulled the parking break up in front of the house slowly, rolling over Jimmy's thoughts in his mind. He had never thought that the young man had such a sad life's story. He always seemed so genuinely _cheerful_. A happy-go-lucky kind of kid.

And he was a _good_ kid. Sincere, and with a good heart.

Clark had never really tried _that_ hard to be nice to him—just his usual casual friendliness. Guilt built up in him that he hadn't even thought to ask about Jimmy's family.

But Jimmy went on, somehow. Clark wondered if the young man even had a life outside of The Daily Planet. He never seemed to, except for an awkward date now and again. But even alone, he seemed to do just fine.

He could do it too. He could get over this—all of this. He had to. He could be the same sort of innocent, slightly-annoying, yet hopefully as sincere-feeling as one Jimmy Olsen.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said, deciding right then and there that he would make an effort to truly be the big brother that Jimmy looked up to him as. "That…that means a lot."

They went into the house to drop off Jimmy's bags and change into more comfortable clothes, and Martha brushed the boys outside as she herself went out to sit on the porch. It was a beautiful day, and Jonathan wouldn't have wanted them to let it go to waste. They flipped through picture albums, reminiscing about good times in a bitter-sweet kind of way, and eventually Clark lost himself enough that he even managed to add a smile to the laughter now and again at some of the outrageous photos that they dug out. By the end Clark was bright red from embarrassment, which looked odd besides the shadows that still lingered around his face.

"R-really, Mom," he groaned as Martha pulled out yet another baby picture—this one where Clark had pulled on some "big-boy pants" over his bright blue full-bodied sleeper pajamas before climbing onto the cupboard and breaking into a jar of raspberry jam. "You're supposed to be on my side. Y-you know, protect me, not show my baby pictures to the world."

"I'm your mother," Martha replied. "And you're my only son. Of course, we were…" She faltered the slightest bit. "Jonathan and I were so glad to have a son, we couldn't get enough of you."

And wasn't that the truth. They had enough baby and toddler pictures to make the over-enthusiastic photographer whistle at the number.

It was good to have Jimmy there. It was good to be able to make him laugh, and to laugh in turn. It was an odd feeling, laughing on the day of his dad's funeral, and more than once the thought hit him and he grew somber.

More than once memories of a cold white room hit him, and made him go still.

But no. They had to move on. They had to let him go. Jonathan would have wanted it that way.

As the day began to ebb into evening Clark changed into working clothes and led Jimmy out to see the farm. Jimmy was a city boy all the way through. He had even been a bit hesitant of approaching Shelby, the hyperactive fully-grown-yet-still-a-pup-at-heart yellow lab that had joined the family only a few months before, though once he realized that the dog was not trying to eat him the two of them hardly left the other's side for the rest of the night. They spent a bit of time tossing a ball for the dog to burn some of that never-ending energy, then Clark led Jimmy to the barn and introduced him to the animals.

Clark was amused enough to manage a grin. The young photographer was hesitant about approaching the chickens, but that hesitancy turned into downright terror of the animals after a particularly large rooster attacked him in a fury of feathers. He wasn't hurt, thanks to Clark's quick intervention, but Jimmy refused to enter the chicken coop again.

"Chicken? Ha!" he laughed, albeit a bit shakenly. "Whoever started calling cowardly people chickens? That's the angriest bird I've ever seen! Chicken!"

Jimmy refused to even get close to the cows. He stayed safely on the other side of the fence, his camera at the ready.

"Can you imagine what Lois would say if she saw you now?" he mused after taking a picture of Clark as he pitched hay into the field. "You really do take to the farmer's part easily enough, CK."

Clark gave a crooked grin at that. Yes, he could imagine what Lois would say if she saw him. That was all he had been doing, the past few days since leaving her. He had hardly stopped talking to her in his head, even at night when he woke up cold and sweating—terrified in the darkness. He had spent most of the first two nights back home sleeping out in the field, under the stars.

_Under the same stars she slept under. _

If she were here she would complain a bit, and tease him a lot. But for all her condemning words, he was sure that she had liked it here, even during her short stay. It was hard not to like it here.

_Was it only three weeks ago that he had been here last? Was it only three weeks ago that everything had been so _right?

It felt like a lifetime had passed, and only here—at his home—did the world stand still and allow him to breathe.

But his father was gone. And without his father, the safe haven he had cherished throughout his travels over the years had changed.

Nothing was safe. No one was safe.

Clark showed Jimmy his treehouse, though there was no way to get up without a ladder, and it was getting dark. Martha called them in for some warmed up supper that neighbors and friends had brought by.

Dinner was quiet. With the setting of the sun and the usually family occasion, Jonathan's absence was brought home more than ever. His usual seat was untouched at the end of the table, and Clark's eyes just kept sliding towards that cold, empty chair. Even Jimmy remained more or less quiet.

This table had so many memories. Memories of him, of his mom, of his dad. It was an old table, now—Jonathan had been thinking of buying one for Martha's next birthday—but Clark couldn't imagine getting a new one. Not now.

They cleared the table and cleaned up together. They used to do it all together, but even with Jimmy's help it seemed like someone was missing.

Because someone was.

Clark put the last plate in the cupboard. The hole that Jonathan Kent had left was screaming for attention. He wanted to fly off, to get away where he could pretend that everything was normal, or to hide in his room and cry until he couldn't cry any more.

But he couldn't.

Clark cleared his throat. "Are…are you two up to a game of…of Boggle?" he said, a bit uncertainly. It had been his father's game, at first, and Clark hadn't been able to beat him until he was halfway through college. He had come home and scratched by with a few points, and once it was clear that he had won the small family had gone off to town to celebrate with ice cream sodas. It had been a wonderful night.

"I think I have it right here," Martha said, bending down to open a drawer and pulling out the well-worn game. The box had long since been lost, and the game itself was now kept carefully in a gallon-sized freezer bag. The transparent cover itself was broken, but held together by a number of layers of duct tape.

Certainly a well-loved game.

They pulled out pens and enough paper to last a month of Boggle playing, then sat down.

"The secret to playing with Clark," Martha said, leaning over to whisper to Jimmy, though it was loud enough that Clark heard it easily even without his superhearing, "is to get as many people as possible to play with him. There are only a limited amount of words in each round as it is, and chances are thatbetween all of us we might cross out most of his words."

"Mom!" Clark protested, though it was softer than a full-out objection.

"It's true!" Martha countered.

"I'm not really, you know, feeling it tonight, though," he said, with a slight sideways glance at her. He never used superspeed to win, but even with his speedy recovery so far he certainly didn't feel normal…for him.

Martha lifted an eyebrow. "Then let's consider the playing field evened." She set an old kitchen timer to three minutes and shook the game. "Ready? Go!"

Clark won that first round just for his dad.

-------------------------------

_He was in the white room. His arms were like lead and pain coursed up and down him like electricity, but he couldn't move. He was trapped, trapped in pain, and terror. _

_And alone. _

_"L-Lois," he groaned through the agony. "Lois!" _

_His voice alone seemed to work, but no one answered in the echoing whiteness. _

_She wasn't there. _

_He swore desperately, praying for help, but as always in his nightmares, no one came. _

_This time, not even Lois came. _

_Logram stepped out of the blinding light, holding a long, dripping needle in blood-covered hands. His fatherly face was kind—a bit regretful, but set. Like a father. _

_"Superman…" And before his eyes, he shifted—blurring, fading…into the face of Jonathan Kent. "Clark…" _

_"Dad!" Clark wept for joy. He was there. Even while the pain shook his body again, cracking into his arm and leg, he felt calm come over him. His dad was there. _

_"Clark. They'll dissect you like a frog, son." _

_"I know Dad. I know. Please…please…" _

_"You're not human." No. That was Logram's voice. But his father stood there. _

_"Dad…Dad…" _

_"Even though you've been raised as a human being, you're not one of them." Was it his dad speaking, or Logram? Pain was blinding his thoughts, deafening his ears, killing his senses. _

_"Dad…p-please…" _

_Something was wrong. He couldn't think. His dad's eyes alone were before him, and white, white, white…but he couldn't reach his father. He was slipping away. It was all slipping away. Pain shook his body. _

_"Kal-El." _

Lois?_ No, that wasn't her voice. _

_The pain was too much. It was too much. _

_"He is not your father. You are not his son." _

_"N-no. Dad!" _

_"You'll be okay, Clark." _

_"Kal-El." _The voice was soft, but insistent, even in the blurring whiteness.

_"Alien!" _

_"Kal-El." _

_"SUPERMAN!" _

"CK! CK, wake up!"

Clark bolted upwards with a gasping cry. He clasped the quilt on his blanket to his heaving chest as he looked about his familiar room, glancing over the pictures that had gathered there over the years.

_"SUPERMAN!" _

It was Lois. _Lois_ was calling for him. She was screaming his name, calling for him, pleading…

He leaped out of bed, halfway to the bedroom door before Jimmy caught his arm.

"CK, where are you going?"

"I…I have to go to…to Lois," Clark murmured through chattering teeth. He could hear her crying. She needed him.

He needed her.

"CK. Whoa! Hold on there. It's the middle of the night. I heard you…uh…well…you know."

Clark stopped, noticing for the first time the still-damp tears on his face. He froze in the darkness, reaching up to feel the wet trails with shaking fingers. Jimmy had heard him crying.

But Clark could _hear_ her—Lois. But that wasn't all he could hear. He could hear a plane flying thousands of feet in the air above them. He could hear the quiet shifting of the cows in the field. He could hear the distant, quiet hum of nighttime city life. He could hear the soft beat of his mother's heart as she climbed out of bed, roused by the commotion.

Lois was calling him. But the fact that he could hear her, so small, so distant, was an amazing feat even with superhearing.

_"Superman, where are you!?!" _

_I'm here, Lois. _

"Clark? Jimmy?"

Clark blinked, coming to himself. He clung to the doorframe as he shook from the fading memories of the nightmare, but the fear was far too familiar.

"I…I just had a nightmare, that's all. S-sorry."

He wanted to fly to her. To take her into the sky and forget everything.

"I wasn't asleep," Martha said, drawing her robe around her and turning on the hall light. Clark glanced over at the clock. It was just past four in the morning.

_What in the world was Lois doing calling for Superman at four in the morning?_

She didn't sound in trouble. Her calls were growing softer, though, almost plaintive. And then they stopped altogether.

Maybe she had had a bad dream too, and now she'd just woken up.

Alone.

He wanted to fly to her.

"Clark, your glasses."

Clark blinked, first at his mom, and then at Jimmy before turning sharply and almost crashing into the doorframe as he spun back into his room. He picked the heavy frames from his dresser and came out, putting them on awkwardly. He did his best not to look at Jimmy in a panic. Had he noticed? No, he looked too calm—sleep-tousled and blinking. He hadn't noticed, surely. "Uh, s-sorry. I…I'm okay now, Jimmy. Thanks for…for waking me up and all."

"It must have been a horrible nightmare, CK," Jimmy said, rubbing his eyes. "It looked awful."

"I…I dreamed about…about my d-dad."

Not a complete lie. He remembered…a little.

_He is not your father. You are not his son. _

_Kal-El. _

Clark shivered. His mother gave him a close look.

"Well, I guess I'll…just head on back to bed," Jimmy said, standing a bit awkwardly in his pajamas between the two of them. "You going to be all right?" he stifled a yawn.

Jimmy had been placed in the guest room, which had been used for sleepovers or visiting relatives in Clark's younger years, but more recently had been converted into a sort of den for paperwork and the Kent's relatively new electronic addition—a computer. It hadn't taken much work to fix it back up for Jimmy to sleep in for the night, but it was just across from Clark's room.

"Y-yeah. I…I can't even remember most of it anyway," Clark said, and it was honest. But did it matter? What he remembered—what he had _lived_—was bad enough.

Bureau 39. And now his father was dead.

_You are not one of them_.

Clark blocked out his thoughts.

"Thank you, Jimmy. We'll let you get back to bed, then. Come along, Clark. Let me get you some oolong tea and we can talk about it." Martha quickly took charge of the situation and pulled Clark's quilt from his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. Clark took it and followed her down the stairs.

Martha fixed the tea and they sat down at the table.

"Them again?" Martha said softly, and not only because she didn't want to keep Jimmy up. If he was awake and listening, there were some things that they didn't want heard.

Clark bowed his head, looking down into the murky liquid but not drinking it. "Y-yeah, I guess." He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was damp from sweat and his stomach was rolling. "But…it _was_ about Dad. It's just…I can't…" The pain. That seemed the only thing that he could remember clearly. That, and the fear, and the loss. He took a deep breath. "I don't really remember the details."

Martha put a hand over his. He had nightmares every night, and she knew it. But Clark was an independent boy and hated to be seen as weak. She knew it, and so she had tried not to go in to him the past few days in Smallville. His childhood home seemed to have a calming effect on him, and though she heard him out of bed pacing or even just sitting on the edge of his bed staring into space, she knew he wanted to do it on his own.

Even though she didn't think he knew how often she had just come in and sat by his side, brushing his hair from his face and watching him. Her little miracle, whom she had come so close to losing.

"Mom," Clark said slowly. "I…I heard Lois."

"In your dream?" Martha prompted. He didn't like talking about his dreams much, but if he felt like he needed to, then Martha was more than glad to listen.

Anything to help her baby.

Clark would have talked to Jonathan about these sorts of things. He was still trying to protect her, even after everything he'd been through.

But Clark shook his head slowly. "N-no. My…my hearing's back."

Martha frowned. "But…but Lois is in Metropolis. And…it's so early…"

"I-I don't know, Mom," Clark shrugged, a bit unsteadily. "I thought maybe…well, maybe she was having a nightmare too, and somehow I heard her because of that."

"That poor girl," Martha murmured. "Clark, you really need to tell her."

Clark stiffened at that, and his fingers turned white around his cup. Martha was afraid he might actually break it and possibly hurt himself, but he seemed to notice his grip and let go of the cup carefully. He flattened his pale hand on the weathered tabletop.

"I…I…" Clark stuttered. He was white, and a bead of sweat dripped from his hair, and down the side of his face. "N-no…"

"Clark. Clark, listen to me." Martha tightened her grip on his arm. He had gone someplace where she couldn't follow, and she had to bring him back. "Clark!"

He blinked and his eyes focused on her at last. He pulled back his arm, and Martha realized she had been clasping right over that terrible scar of his. She hadn't seen it since that first day—he kept it carefully hidden—but just the memory made her heart quiver, even if it didn't seem to impair his work at all.

"I…I know," Clark said shakily, making Martha wonder if that was what he was saying in the first place—not giving a negative answer. "I…I j-just…don't know if…if I can, Mom."

Martha put a hand on his shoulder. He was warm. He had always been so warm—even now, as his strong arms shook slightly with the tremors of fading panic.

"Clark, honey…"

Clark shook his head without meeting her eyes, and stood, picking up his cup with unusual care and turning away from her.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now."

His Superman voice, devoid of all nervousness or stutter. That was good, Martha thought. She hadn't heard him use that tone of voice since he had gotten back. The boy needed to understand that he couldn't go through this alone, but right now he was fighting to hold it together. He needed to believe in himself again, before anything else.

"Okay, Clark," Martha said softly.

Clark looked out the window, seeing far beyond the darkened cornfields even without his supervision. He lifted his cup and drained it in one go.

Martha watched him for a long moment in silence. Even after only a few days at home, he was growing to look at least a little bit more like his old self again. His shoulders had regained some of their confident set, at least, and his skin his usually healthy color as he put on a few extra pounds he had lost during that terrible week.

But his eyes…oh, every so often they'd go dark and Martha could see things that no man should ever have to see within their depths.

If ever Martha hated someone, it was whoever was responsible for doing this to her boy.

"You can go back to bed, Mom. I'll go get an early start on the chores. I'm sorry for waking you."

"Your powers are coming back?"

Clark nodded slowly, and Martha saw a mixture of Superman and Clark as he spoke. "My hearing just came back tonight. Strength…it's returning slowly—bit by bit. I could lift the bales of hay yesterday better than before, but I was tired by the end. There's no sign of any vision stuff or…or flying."

Martha smiled slightly. Her little bluebird Clark. He always did love to fly. Even if he had never really spoken about it, she could see in his eyes how much that freedom did for him. It would be good for him to take to the skies again.

"Don't forget your invulnerability," Martha said. "You just drank that tea like it was cold water from the tap." She lifted her own drink, which was still steaming and too hot to drink except in a very small sip.

A little smile lightened Clark's expression as her comment triggered a memory. Martha would have loved to know what it was.

"Yes, I suppose that's starting to come back, too," he said, but his hand came up to rub his scarred arm unconsciously.

_Invulnerability? _Martha thought. _Whoever thought to call him invulnerable?_ Clark had never been invulnerable, and not only because of Kryptonite. Her little boy was hurt, and hurting still.

But he was pushing through. She could see it in his eyes. He was determined to get over this, and it gave Martha hope.

So long as he didn't lose himself in the process.

TBC...


	29. Intrepid Investigative Reporter

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! KC-Piper-Fan, blah125, oneredneckgoddess...all my regular reviewers, you are my heroes. Thank you.

mrsvartan, it's great to hear from you! Thank you so much for the review. I am glad that you are enjoying the story, and as for Clark telling Lois his secret.../evil grin/

1truelove, thank you so much for your review. It was a 'super' review, if I can say so myself. I am flattered that you read it in one sitting and believe the storyline and the emotions believable and can feel them yourself. It has definitely taken me some time to write what I've written, and I'm glad to hear that it's worth it. And as for Lois being upset when she finds out.../evil grin/

Kind of a slow chapter, folks, but there you are. Thanks for the reviews, and a shameless bit of begging right now for more...

/gets down on knees/ Please?

There. Now that that's done...enjoy.

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Chapter 29: Intrepid Investigative Reporter

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Lois Lane kept busy. It was perhaps the only thing that kept her from breaking—the only thing that kept her from thinking to closely on Superman, and on the memories.

Mad Dog Lane. It was the maddest mad dog that even Perry had ever seen, and it was she who came into work day after day, restless and heedless in pursuing her prey.

The first week back she uncovered the murderers of the imprisoned soldiers and Logram—a police officer and a fellow prisoner of the men that had been imprisoned for a bank robbery—by Superman himself, as it was. Of course, it had taken some bending of the breaking and entering rule to figure them out, but that didn't stop Lois Lane.

It never had, and it definitely wasn't going to stop her now.

The murderers had their faces slapped on the front page and all over the news, but they didn't know who had hired them, or didn't dare own up to it. They'd been paid in cash, and the officer had been blackmailed by some illegal drug dealings he had been facilitating near the docks, and they wouldn't talk.

"Better in jail than dead," the officer muttered during Lois's interrogation of him. Even if he didn't know who he had done the deed for, he understood the Boss's reach. Perhaps better than anyone.

Lois ran all over the city. The grey warehouse that she had been kidnapped at was completely empty and dusted down to look unused—even the phony reception area was stripped down to nothing—and then she found nothing of interest, just as the police had before her. But she had stopped for a time in a certain room, chilled as she saw the great crack and dust from where something hard and heavy had crashed into the wall.

Superman.

There they had both been caught. There was a faint spattering of blood in the dust, and Lois smeared it away into nothing. She didn't want anyone testing it and finding something about Superman that they didn't want them to know.

There was still no sign of him.

If the police were overwhelmed and Lois was on a killing spree, the paparazzi was having a hey-day. Cheap papers exploded on the street, crying despair—that Superman was dead, killed by this once-believed-futile threat of kryptonite.

Even the criminals seemed to pick up with the sudden rage. A failed bank robbery brought in three hoodlums, to find that they had green crystals stuffed into their pocket. Upon research, it had been discovered that it was nothing but cheap dyed glass, but it still made Lois go cold.

His weakness was out there and known. Adults walked a little faster, glancing up at the sky with a sad sort of fading hope that they tried not to let anyone else see. Kids cried as they saw computer-altered or artistic portrayals of Superman—lying dead and bleeding amidst glowing green rocks—and the Star's front page's bold headline: "MAN OF STEEL MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD."

It made Lois feel sick, even though she wouldn't allow herself to think that he might not be well. His short letter to her never left her pocket, and was creased and dirty from her holding it and reading it over and over again. He was safe, for now.

But whoever had been dealing with Bureau 39 _did _have kryptonite. It was still out there.

So she worked on, determined to make the world a little safer for him.

She didn't sleep well, still. She woke up more than once during the night, sweating and cold and alone. She had made it a practice to go outside and stand on her balcony after finding that it was impossible to go back to sleep, and calling his name.

Her heart was always bleak when she went back down the stairs to her apartment.

He had superhearing, didn't he? Maybe he could hear her, now. Maybe he would understand how much she needed him, and come to her.

But he couldn't, or he didn't.

She was hot on the trail of the big boss. Though dead end after dead end opened up beneath her feet, she could almost smell him now—even if she wasn't sure exactly where he was, the investigation was going forward.

She was going to find him, come flood, fire, or storm.

Friday night came. She hurried home to dump off her papers for the weekend—even though she wasn't going into work on Saturday, nobody was going to get her off this story even for a day of rest. Since she had started she had lived this investigation—eaten it, breathed it, sleeped it. And she wasn't leaving it until it was solved.

Lois struggled to open her door between the armful of files and her purse, but with practiced grace she managed it without dropping a single piece of paper. She clomped inside her apartment and dropped the whole mess on the table with a grunt.

The too-tall pile slipped sideways, and Lois hurried to catch most of the papers before they ended up in an even bigger mess all over the floor.

The papers she didn't catch, however, slid from the table and scattered all over linoleum.

Lois swore, tempted just to kick the papers, stomp on them, and maybe even do a strange sort of savage dance over them. Maybe that would awaken some spirit that might help her on this.

She declined the temptation, however, and instead began gathering up the scattered notes and dumping them back on the table.

Lois picked up the last one, and rolled her eyes to herself as she recognized that nonsensical packet of Clark's on Lex. She glanced at the clock. There was still an hour until she had to be to that blasted _shrink_ for that cursed _appointment. _She grabbed a microwavable dinner, warmed it up, and kept the thick packet of paper as she went to sit down on her very uncomfortable couch to eat and…relax.

She was tired after the long day, and it might amuse her to read what sins and horrors Clark Kent was trying to pin on Lex Luthor this time.

No wonder the packet was so thick, Lois mused as she flipped through it. It stretched back months—probably to the very day that Clark Kent had met Lex Luthor for the first time.

_Silly man._

Ah. There it was. A very large fund that Clark had circled, and beside it he had penned in the date—not long before their first collaborative story had hit the front page. "Prometheus Project."

Lois shook her head. She remembered him ranting about that. Something crazy about Lex tampering with the space station in order to get a boost on the market himself. A very large assumption, after only meeting the millionaire once.

But there were other things. Circled things—withdrawals, transfers to overseas banks…It was all quite illegal for Clark to have record of, Lois was sure. Clark really did have something against Luthor, if he was willing to bend his rigid rules for it.

Lois just shook her head at most of them, though she didn't understand all the notes that Kent had made.

_Illegal experimentation. O.D. _

_Bank robbery in NY._

Why in the world would Lex want to rob a bank? He was a billionaire already. Clark was clearly delusional.

_$$ from S.A. (I.I. Gold) _

_C.O. of MP murdered._

MP? Metro. Physics? They were a competitor for some of Lex's labs, but they had always been small. Besides, the police hadn't found any evidence of dirty work around the C.O.'s death, if Lois remembered right. The man had been old, anyway.

Clark didn't really think Lex was a _killer_, did he?

_Inhumane research on stray cats. W.W.P._

Stray cats? Talk about grasping at straws, Kent! Where in the world did he get such an idea?

_Failed tsunami warning. Tampered?_

The date marked was from a couple months ago, and Lois remembered vaguely something about a tsunami near New Zealand. But Superman had been on the job, so no one had been killed and there was only minor property damage. What would Clark know about failed warning systems for tsunamis anyway? And besides, this was in _New Zealand_. What in the world would Lex have to gain from a couple failed tsunami warning buoys?

_M.T. murdered in Hobbs. Drugs?_

Lois flipped a couple pages forward, pausing to take a bite of her dinner. This really was just too much.

_Toasters._

Lois chuckled, remembering the pyromaniac group from a story only some weeks ago. She turned another page over. By Clark's account, it seemed that almost every problem that Metropolis had seen since he got there—and other parts of the world as well—could be traced back to Lex's hands. It was ridiculous.

_Terrorist attack in Iraq. 102 dead._

Lois laughed out loud at that one, though the subject matter wasn't to laugh at. Now, _really_! Why in the world would Lex have a hand in terrorist attacks in the Middle East? He was a philanthropist raised from nothing. A bit annoying, at times, in his over-trimmed way, but by Clark Kent's estimation Lex Luthor would have to be the greatest criminal mastermind of all time, or something close to it. The epitome of evil itself.

She turned to the last page, growing a bit tired of her past time. But then she stilled.

Clark had circled a long column in red, and drawn a line out to the margin where he had written in small, but clear letters.

_B. 39._

He wasn't serious.

He _couldn't_ be serious.

Now Lex was behind Bureau 39 as well?

Jealousy had driven the poor farm boy mad.

She tossed it onto her coffee table and grabbed her plate to finish off her dinner without interruptions.

If that's what Clark did to Lex's budget reports, Lois would love to see what he did with Lex's P.R.s, or his self-published life story.

He probably rewrote the whole thing, beginning with Lex's birth:

_Lex Luthor was created in Hell, and is commonly known among his peers as the oldest son of Satan, also known as Lucifer…_

Lois snorted into her lukewarm microwaved mashed potatoes.

It felt good. She hadn't laughed since Kal-El had disappeared.

She grew quiet, sitting back in the uncomfortable cushions where he had lain for the greater part of his few days here.

She could almost see his face before her, even now. It had never left her.

Her timer went off, startling her from her thoughts, and she looked at the time with a curse. She was going to be late. Not that she really cared, she thought as she grabbed her purse and made for the door, but she wouldn't put it beneath Perry to call the psychiatrist's office and make sure she made it her appointment.

So she locked her door firmly behind her, ran down the stairs, managed to flag down a cab and was across town within a half an hour. She paid the fare and stepped out of the cab to look at the nice-looking building. The whole thing seemed to be created to reflect a non-threatening air. Tall trees not often seen around Metropolis gave some pleasant shade to the grass in front of the warm-colored front, and the flower beds were beautiful.

Lois hated it upon sight.

She walked in boldly, ready to tear into the place and show them just how _not_ necessary this was for her. She was Lois Lane. She was unbreakable. She went through these sort of things all the time. She was a pro.

Still, she hesitated as the door shut behind her, making her heart go cold. She shivered involuntarily, a shadow passing over her features as she pushed herself forward.

She was fine. Nothing was going to happen.

The receptionist was a younger woman, and she looked kind and open--fittingly so, for this clinic.

"My name's Lois Lane. I had an appointment for 7:00 with a"—she checked the note to herself—"a Melinda Helmerson."

Eerie. It seemed so familiar. If she was directed to room 42 she was going to make a bolt for the door.

She gritted her teeth to herself. If she saw one person in a white lab coat, or saw even the slightest trace of a gun…

She wasn't going to call for him. She'd rather die, rot, and fester before calling for him again…bringing him into a trap like that one.

"She's waiting for you, Miss Lane. Go on in. It's just the room on the right at the end of this hall."

Much more friendly and casual than that fake tax bureau. Even so, Lois didn't like it one bit.

She walked down the hall, her shoulders squared. She stopped beside the door and knocked boldly.

_Dr._ _Melinda_ _Helmerson_, it read on her nameplate. Lois thought she might be sick.

The door opened.

Lois blinked. The woman that had opened the door wasn't much older than herself, she would guess. She had shoulder-length auburn hair and a somewhat scholastic air, but an open expression like a mother just waiting to listen. She was smiling kindly and opened the door fully, speaking before Lois got a chance.

"You must be Lois Lane. Come on in. I've been waiting for you."

Lois hid a shudder and marched in, glancing around the room quickly. It was more roomy than she would have expected, and one side of the room was taken up by a large glass window. There was no sign of the infamous shrink's couch, only a couple of normal couches settled comfortably against the wall.

"How are you today? Is it all right if I call you Lois?"

No, it wasn't all right. But if Lois said that it wasn't all right, then who knew what sort of messed up psychological reading the shrink might get from a sharp rebuke.

"That's fine," she said stiffly. "You must be Dr. Helmerson."

"Please, Lois, Dr. Helmerson is my father-in-law. You can call me Melinda. We're pretty laid back here. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

Lois sat on the very edge of the couch, wishing that perhaps she had worn her stiletto heels…just in case. This woman seemed too nice to be true.

Logram had seemed a nice kind of guy at first sight too, and look at what he had done.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Lois. Of course I've heard of you, but it certainly is a pleasure to meet you in person. Would you like some coffee?"

Lois felt herself softening a bit…but no. That was the woman's intention. Fire and iron, that's all she had to be.

"No, thank you," Lois said. "I wouldn't be here if I had any real choice. My editor was being his usual unreasonable self. I am quite capable of dealing with experiences that others may found troublesome or scarring, Dr. Helmerson. It's a part of my line of work, and I am only here because it was a requirement of my editor."

"Ah, yes. Perry White," the doctor said, sitting on a couch across from Lois and leaning back. "We lived in the same neighborhood for a while, before he bought his current home. I was just a kid, going to college you know. He's quite a character. Had enough Elvis stories to fill hours of neighborhood meetings."

Lois felt a smile tugging at the sides of her mouth and quickly banished it.

Fire and _steel_. Stainless steel.

"So you are used to life and death situations, Lois?" Apparently Melinda Helmerson realized that sweet-talking her was not going to get her to loosen up.

"It's a part of my job," Lois emphasized. "It's not my fault, and it just happens every once in a while. You know, I've been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened, and I'm used to it. I'm good."

"Perry told me about what happened with your copyboy at the Planet."

Oh. Darn that Perry. "I know kung fu," Lois said, folding her arms. "So a week in the hands of madmen made me a little jumpy, but that's natural. It's that sort of thing that keeps you alive, you know."

Dr. Helmerson smiled gently. "Really?"

"Yeah," Lois said with a nod. "I mean, I didn't mean to hurt Jimmy, but he was sneaking around and all. It was perfectly natural!"

"But you feel bad for hurting Jimmy?"

"Of course I do!" Lois said, glaring at her. "Jimmy's a good guy. It was just an automatic reaction, and Perry freaked out about it. I mean, I'm not going to turn into some violent basket-case or anything. I was just defending myself."

"Defending yourself? Did you feel threatened by Jimmy?"

"No!" Lois said, drawing herself up in defense. "Jimmy's just a kid. Couldn't hurt a fly, except for maybe causing it to crash into a wall after flashing it blind with that camera of his. Besides, it's not like I'm afraid of being hurt or anything."

Melinda glanced up at her cheek, where a fading bruise was still visible. "Did Bureau 39 hurt you, Lois?"

Lois brought her hand up to the bruise in defense. "Not really. I just tried to make a break for it and it didn't end too well."

_Trying_ _to_ _protect_ _Kal-El_.

But it hadn't worked very well at all, that time.

_He had almost died_.

Melinda sat back, looking at her kindly. Lois stared boldly back, not letting her thoughts shake her. They sat there in silence for a minute before the doctor spoke again. "I'm not here to interrogate you, Lois. Is there anything you feel like talking about? Anything that is troubling you? We can't help you unless you let us."

"I told you, I'm just here because I have to be," Lois said, growing frustrated. "This is a waste of time. I'm on a story, you know—to track down the person responsible for this. Logram, the soldiers…everyone I saw during my imprisonment is dead, but the big guy…he's still out there, and every minute I waste in here is a minute longer that he gets to walk around free. Not to mention Superm—" She cut off sharply. Superman was none of the doctor's business, and if she hadn't been so strung out already Lois would have never made the mistake of bringing him up. She went still, glaring at the doctor as she felt a chill pass over her arms.

"Superman?" Melinda finished. "What about him, Lois?"

"Why are you so interested in Superman?" Lois demanded, bristling at that. She drew herself up, though her hands shook slightly as she gripped her purse. She should have brought a brick in the bottom of it, just in case.

The doctor looked a little confused at that. "Well, I guess everyone is, especially seeing as he's…missing."

Missing. Hearing it again made Lois's heart ache.

Her heart hadn't seemed to have stopped aching. Not since he left her.

"I don't know anything, all right?" Lois said, her voice shaking a bit. "I mean, I know he used to save me a lot and all, but that's it. It's not like I have any connection or anything…I'm just another person he's saved. That's all." _Was _that all? He had always seemed so much like a god—untouchable, and above everyone, even while he cared enough to come and save them. It was that visage of him that Lois had first thought herself in love with. Now, she loved the man beneath…but was she just being a fool? He didn't need her now. He would get his powers back, and soon be flying around the world again. Who knew how quickly and easily he was able to put aside what had happened?

Was he just up there, somewhere, already forgetting it all, while Lois Lane broke down into a million broken pieces?

He saved strangers all the time and expected nothing in return.

But Lois wasn't a _stranger_. She was his _friend_.

But he was _Superman_. He could have anyone—anything. Why would he want her—messed up, crazy Lois Lane who had to see a shrink?

Why had he left her?

Was she just being ridiculous? She hadn't even known if he _ate_, or _slept_ until their time with Bureau 39. She had hardly known him, and he hadn't been exceptionally open in sharing his life's story with her, even as it was.

Did he look at her like…some sort of pet? Some sort of stray kitten, always getting into trouble and needing to be pulled out?

Melinda's eyes had taken on a slight light, as if she had realized something. "So…you're disappointed that he didn't save you?"

"No!" Lois denied fervently, wringing her purse-strap in her hands. "He's Superman. If he could have, he would have."

"So you're worried about him."

_Yes_.

"No!" Lois repeated.

"You _are_ worried about him. And you're the one who has had all the interviews with him. Was he a…a friend?" She sounded a bit awed at that, even though Superman had been around for some months. The man was untouchable, and any connection—even the slightest—was a bit awe-inspiring. And this was Lois Lane.

"No!" Lois said. "I…I hardly knew…_know_ him." The whole past tense thing was starting to make her twitchy.

"But he was a friend, wasn't he? What with your articles and everything."

That was a problem. Everybody already _did_ know.

"Why would you deny it?" Melinda wondered, looking at her with a slightest frown. "What happened, Lois?"

Uh oh. Practically the whole city knew that Lois Lane had a thing for Superman. If she suddenly turned and started denying it she might rouse suspicion.

She deflated slightly. If she let a little worry for Superman creep through, it would probably actually make it more realistic. She had to be normal, like before. No one could know that Superman had been there, with her.

But somebody knew. The cameras, the tapes—everything had disappeared.

The person who was the most danger to both of them knew it all.

But who was it? Where was he? Where was _Superman?_

She tired of suspecting everyone, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing.

That weariness sunk down to the bottom of her heart.

And the woman looked so nice. She had the same eyes as Clark's mom, though she was considerably younger. There was no harm telling just a little…

She was so tired.

"I…" Lois said slowly, looking down at her clammy hands. "I'm guess I am…a bit worried about him. A little."

"Oh?" Melinda lifted her eyebrows at the sudden change of attitude and complete turn around of her words.

"I…I don't know where he is," Lois admitted, though her soft voice held a thread of iron still. She looked up into Melinda's eyes challengingly. "I…I thought we were friends, or something, but…he left me…" The note seemed to burn in her pocket. "He couldn't save me, but…I…I can't stop thinking about him. I don't know how to stop it."

That was the truth, and perhaps the one reason that Lois felt like she was going to break.

_I need him. I can't live without him, but it's killing me that I can't stop thinking about him._

"Do you think he's…?" _Dead._ That was the word that she was going to say, and she sounded sincerely worried about it. Everyone was worried about it.

"No," Lois said, cutting it off before she could say it. She didn't want to hear it. "No. He'll be back. He'll be fine. But…he's always there, right in front of me, but I can't reach him. I can…I can hear him speaking, and when I'm working I just…I see him, even when I'm talking to others. I see things and think of him. I can't stop it…"

Melinda's gaze was sympathetic. "You thought of him a lot during your captivity."

_All the time._ "Well, yeah," she allowed some sarcasm to drip into her words. The story went that she had been captured and questioned about him, so the question was more than a little bit inane.

He had been her only reality. And now he was gone.

"Have you taken a break since you've been back?"

No. Lois was beating herself into the ground and she knew it. Her sleeping schedule had become haphazard at best, and what little sleep she did get was restless and filled with nightmares of white rooms and Superman…caught, trapped, and alone.

If she stepped back a minute to rest it would give a whole new connection to "taking a break" and "having a break down."

"I told you I don't have time," Lois reiterated. "The best thing for myself _and_ Superman is to track down whoever was funding the madhouse of Bureau 39 and hang them up so everyone can see that such…such _racism_ will not be tolerated!"

"Racism?" Melinda was honestly befuddled, and it took a moment before it cleared. "Oh! You mean because he's an...well, I guess because he's not from Earth? Because he's an...alien?"

Lois winced at that. Alien. And they thought it mattered so much.

But it didn't matter. Not really. Not to her.

When Lois left a half an hour later, she was feeling surprisingly better. That woman was good. After breaking the ice with some mention of Superman, Lois had ranted to her the rest of the time—of everything from Bureau 39 to how Jimmy had accidentally spilled some coffee on some of her notes that morning after returning from his day off…whatever that had been for. And though she wasn't particularly happy about it, Melinda had told her that Perry had arranged for no less than four more appointments, though they could be spread out over the next few weeks.

Lois left with surprisingly little complaint. Oh, of course Perry wasn't going to be hearing the end of this, but it had turned out that Melinda was a rather good listener, and besides, she had a stash of double-fudge chocolate bars that she seemed willing enough to share. So Lois figured she could deal with it, though that didn't mean she was going to take it quietly.

TBC...

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	30. Not One of Them

Whoa. So I was planning on posting this a couple hours ago, but as I sat down to do my final edits and all (I don't have a beta, see, so I like to let it sit for a couple days so I can 'beta' it myself, if possible), but as I sat down my little sister stole my SR DVD and turned it on. Well, we got to the part with Supes vs. Luthor on New Krypton and my cousin walked into the room and said, "Oh, this is the Superman movie."

"The Superman Movie?" I responded to that, outraged and taken aback. "It's Superman Returns!"

"Oh."

I didn't know what to say at first. I struggled for speech. "You mean...you haven't seen SR?"

She shook her head, and I felt faint.

What? My own cousin, who is living with my family and thus with me, hadn't seen SR yet? And there landed poor Clark in front of Luthor and was just about to be beaten and almost killed. My cousin was going to be thoroughly confused and was going to miss out on the shock of the whole thing...

"PUSH STOP!" I hollered. My eleven-year-old brother was too slow to respond, so I tackled him and wrested the remote from him. "STOP IT! STOP IT!"

I did it myself (the best jobs always have to be done that way), and in moments we had started it all over at the beginning again. My poor cousin was uneducated and deprived--I had to do all I could to rectify the situation--immediately.

So that's why this is later than I would like it to be, if you care...lol.

Thank you so much for the reviews, gonnabfamous07, Divamercury, KC-piper-fan, oneredneckgoddess, and blah125. Special thanks to the review from Sean Mulligan, whom I had not heard from yet (delurkers always get special thanks). Seriously, reviews completely make my day and keep this story going.

1truelove, thanks for the compliment on my writing. This is indeed the first ff I have ever written, and to hear that people think it's good certainly makes my day. But I guess that never really gets old.

Okay, everyone, enjoy,

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Chapter 30: Not One of Them

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Clark drove Jimmy to the airport to catch his flight, and shook the young man's hand firmly before they split.

"Take care of Lois, will you, Jimmy?" Clark asked. "You know, I mean—don't bug her, but just keep an eye on her."

"Oh, I know that," Jimmy said with his trademark grin. "You know Lois. She's probably still foaming at the mouth for that story, but I'll do my best to see that she doesn't overdo it."

Like Jimmy could really do anything to keep Lois out of trouble. But still, it made Clark feel a bit better. A _very_ little bit better. It was he that should be at her side.

Jimmy left for Metropolis, and Clark went back to the farm. There was plenty to do—he had been intending on taking care of a lot of things, even before his father passed away, and now he had the time to do it.

His telescopic vision came back that day, and he had spent most of the night just looking around like a blind man given back his sight.

The world was beautiful. There was so much he had missed. The fields of Smallville were endless to the human eye, but Clark saw beyond that endlessness. He saw cities, mountains—and above him, eternal stars and the moon which was so clear in his sight, like he could reach up and pluck it right out of the sky like a giant marshmallow.

A couple days later, his laser and x-ray vision returned.

A week and two days after coming to Smallville, Clark experienced his first real burst of superspeed. He painted the barn in twenty minutes, and would have done it in ten if he hadn't stopped to rest his aching arm from painting and his leg from climbing the ladder again and again.

It would have taken five if he could have flown.

He grinned a bit to himself as he sat down to eat fresh cookies and milk that his mom brought out to him. His powers had always been somewhat of an awkward subject, but his father had given him another view of that, even if he realized he was different.

His father had been just a big kid at times, and though he worried for Clark, he was sometimes just positively childlike when it came to his powers.

He had loved to watch Clark dart across the field at superspeed. He had not been able to hide that kind of astonished wonder whenever Clark lifted something bigger than he ever had before, and though he tried to hide it, it just had tickled the farmer whenever Clark did something normal in the most abnormal way—like heating a cup of hot cocoa with his laser vision, or being able to answer to a call for dinner from all the way across town.

Clark wasn't really the type to say it, but really the only way to describe his powers was….they were _cool._ Awe-inspiring, even to him, even if the caution and fear of them being discovered had been kneaded into him since childhood.

His powers were a part of him. He hadn't realized how much he had missed them. He had never realized that even though the powers didn't make him who he was, he was incomplete without them.

He spent the rest of the day working at superspeed, and he managed to get everything done that he had listed to do during his stay at home. His mom came out and found him pale and sweating from the work, collapsed in the hay with an exhausted but satisfied air and Shelby at his side. She had knocked Clark over the head, dragged him inside, and stuck him on the couch with an oath that she'd take a paddle to him if he dared move a muscle. He had overdone himself. He was still not well, and he should be more careful.

Clark didn't care. It felt wonderful to be getting things done again. Life had gone so slowly without his normal speed and strength, and he had felt as if no matter how hard he worked nothing ever came of it. Now he was _doing_ things.

Soon—soon Superman would come back to the skies.

Metropolis was calling for him. The world was calling for him.

Martha herded him into bed early, upset still at how he had overworked himself, and declaring that he hadn't looked as pale as this since first coming to Smallville. Clark _was_ exhausted, and his leg and arm _did _hurt a little more than they had been, but he was pleased with the day's work. It was good to be tired. He slept better when he was tired, and generally without nightmares.

It was easier to just float…not to worry about Bureau 39, or Lois, if he was tired. It was easier not to think.

They were all so far away from his childhood home.

He woke up just past midnight, despite the long and hard day. His whole body thrummed as if he had taken a beating, and as he shifted uncomfortably he decided perhaps he really had overdone it, just like his mom said.

Of course, his mom was always right about those kinds of things.

He was tense as he looked out the window, his eyes wandering through the bright-lit sky from stars invisible to the human eye. Even if he hadn't dreamed anything he could remember, something bothered him. He felt cooped up and restless, and actually felt a bit homesick for his apartment, his job, and Lois. He needed to go out and fly, but a quick experiment to try and levitate was futile.

_Soon_, he assured himself. He always had loved to fly.

He leaned back into his pillow, but sleep refused to answer his seeking call. He felt like his life had become some sort of odd dream, with swirls of darkness and lightness, memories and the present. But he had rested long enough now, and something called for him to wake up.

His father wouldn't want him sticking around, now that everything necessary was taken care of. But his mother needed him, emotionally if for nothing else.

He knew he needed her too. Her support had helped him through some of the horrors and insecurities brought on by Bureau 39. If it weren't for his mother and Lois…he didn't know what he would have done. Even now he felt dangerously close to shattering, if he prodded too close at his emotional state.

_He wasn't human. _That was perhaps the worst thing that Bureau 39 had done to him. He could face pain, fear…but they had taken away his humanity.

_He was an alien._

Did he have any chance to live a normal life?

Impossible. How could he expect to have a normal life when he was so completely _ab_normal?

Could he even _have_ kids with a normal human woman? Could he dare put a woman that he loved at that risk? Could he risk getting close to anyone, with people like Trask and Bureau 39 in the world?

_Lois._

He wanted Lois. The thought of her made his heart twist inside of him with longing—so much that it was painful. He shook slightly as he saw her face in his mind. He needed her, and being away from her for so long was killing him.

He needed to see her face. To look into her eyes and see into her beautiful soul—so full of emotion that even the memory shook him to the core. He looked at his left hand that lay on top of his quilt, remembering the feel of her hand in his. He closed his fingers slowly, remembering her touch, her grasp, her broken, desperate words.

_Superman. Superman, hang on. It will be all right. It's almost over._

_Lois._

_I'm here, Superman. I'm here. _

How could he have left her like that?

His father was dead. He could almost feel his father's callused, strong hand in his, just over where Lois had held his hand during those days of nightmare.

Whatever deity was out there watching over him—how was he supposed to recover from this?

He had to.

But what was he going to do?

_Lois._

He had hoped that distancing himself for a time—especially during these dark times of his life—might make his heart let go of her, even a little bit. But he was wrong. He was addicted to Lois Lane, and every day that passed without her made him need her more.

How was she coping? She was so independent—no doubt she was refusing to admit any pain from what had happened.

But who could she turn to, even if she wanted to? She had made it quite clear that she thought little of her parents, and as Clark he had thought himself one of her best friends, even if they hadn't known each other all that long.

Guilt sliced at his heart, piercing even the pain from his need of her.

She had stayed with him. She had stayed by his side.

He had been dying, and Lois had brought him back to life.

_This is something beyond 'till death do you part.'_

Clark took a deep breath, shifting in his quilts as he realized that he had broken out in a cold sweat, and his arm and leg were throbbing as if in memory of those horrible days.

They had cut him open bone-deep. The very memory of the pain made him blanch, and he clutched onto his blankets.

_Alien._

He shivered as a terrible whiteness rose up in the darkness before him in memory.

Clark gritted his teeth, his fingers turning white on the covers. No. It was over. It was _over_. He cast his mind out desperately, trying to think of something else—anything else.

The memories were always harder to banish at night.

_Lois_.

No. Not her. He needed her too much. Her absence was too much.

Clark took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart and cast the white wall of panic away. He opened his eyes and stared at his ceiling and the glow in the dark stars that scattered their way across the expanse of it, focusing on the little things. Insignificant nothings, that told him that he was alive, and not dreaming.

His room was not silent, and the night sounds helped him have something to grab onto. Some wandering traffic passed some miles away, and crickets chirped distantly out in the fields. Down in the kitchen Shelby gave a soft moan in her sleep as she rolled into a more comfortable position, and his mom's heart beat was slow and steady in sleep. The curtains flapped slightly by his open window from a gentle evening breeze.

There was a distant siren—so distant that even he couldn't focus on the cause of it over the endless roar of silence over the rows of corn and quiet farmhouses with steadily beating hearts. He had heard a number of cries for help over the past few days—both from the sources and through the news—but there was nothing he could do, yet. He wondered what this newest siren was for, but he couldn't know, and there was nothing he could do about it if he did know.

He wanted to go out—to help people. They were suffering right now—even dying—and he wanted to be out there to help them.

It was always easier to forget himself when he was more worried about others.

But this is what he had always wanted—to be just Clark. To live as a normal man—not worrying about others, but only himself. To be able to let Lois know him as "just Clark," and not to have to worry about anyone else.

But he realized now that he could never do that. He couldn't just sit still and let things go. He needed to help.

Soon. Soon he would return. Even this normalcy at the farm was temporary at best.

He shivered, pulling the covers closer around him despite the fact that the cold had nothing to do with his sudden chill.

He shut his eyes and rolled onto his side, trying to go back to sleep, though his body hardly needed it at his point and the still-drying sweat from his fear reminded him of memories he struggled to forget. He tossed and turned restlessly, and it wasn't long before he threw off his covers and stood, taking his robe and pulling it around him as he padded into the kitchen to fix himself some tea. He didn't turn on the light, but was comfortable in the darkness with his supervision.

It was quick work—a shot with his laser vision and his tea was done. He sat down at the table and sipped at it carefully, but there was no pain despite the sense of heat. He took a deep drink and set it down.

He didn't have to see through his long-sleeved shirt to see the ugly scar in his mind, though. It was healing slowly, even the missing muscle that had been taken from him, but it was still ugly—hideous. And it marked him with memories that he would rather dismiss as a nightmare.

_Logram's bloodied fingers, his cold voice. Pain. Lois. Oh, Lois… _

_No._ That was enough. It was over. It was gone.

Clark shook his head to banish the memories, but his stomach was uneasy and his hands were shaking. He dumped the rest of his tea in the sink.

_What are you going to do about it?_

His father's last question to him had become like a mantra. He had decided already the answer. Superman was going to come back, and nothing—_nothing—_was more important than helping others. To keep them from the pain, the loss, and the terror that Clark had got to know so intimately.

To protect them as much as possible.

He looked towards his room, seeing upstairs and through the floor and the walls to where a couple suits that he kept here at home hung limply in the small cubby hidden at the back of his closet. Waiting.

Waiting, like the rest of the world.

But something caught his eye. He had brought his globe with him to Smallville, thinking that it was safer here, both for him and from anyone who might find it and recognize it for what it might be. He had taken such care packing away and bringing with him to hide here, and it sat inconspicuously beneath his bright-colored suits. But no. It wasn't inconspicuous at the moment. The globe was _glowing_.

Clark stood slowly, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the globe, though it was still on the other side of the house. It really _was_ glowing—a faint, red light, but it was _there_. He moved forward, as if afraid too quick of a movement might make the light vanish—to cause the globe to go back to its dormant state once again. He climbed the stairs as quickly yet quietly as he dared. He closed his bedroom door behind him, opened his closet, and pushed aside the old Smallville High letterman jacket and flannel shirts that hung there. He put his hand on the secret compartment and slid it open, letting the pale red light bathe the room around him.

It was _humming_.

Hesitantly—not exactly sure what to do— Clark reached out and lifted it.

Shock traveled up his fingers like an electric current—but not painful. Just a sudden tingling, and almost numb feeling. Clark tried to pull back, but there was a flash of light and his room disappeared.

A roaring, shifting, rushing current of bright white surrounded him.

It was blinding. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes as the light itself seemed to buffet him. He peered around to see what was causing it—to find his room in the light.

But there was only white.

He didn't like it. It made fear struggle to rise in his heart, threatening to choke him, but he fought it down.

He could do this. Whatever was going on, he could figure it out.

"Hello?" he called, and his voice echoed, reverberated, and shivered through the charged air.

He turned, realizing that he was floating—but not by his own power. Rather, he was hanging by no seen means within this cloud of white. Yet as he turned he would have taken a step back if he could, for there was a man standing right before him—dressed in long, white robes, with the s-shield—_his _s-shield—worn boldly over his heart.

He appeared a middle-aged man, save for his hair, which was a shock of white. His air was noble and stately, but his eyes were kind, but heavy and burdened down with some not-too-distant sorrow. His deep blue eyes pierced Clark and froze him still.

"Kal-El," the man said the name carefully. The voice sounded familiar, as if from a dream. Had the globe been calling to him through his dreams? "You will not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father."

Clark stared, even his shaking stopping in his pure shock.

"This globe is attuned to your life force, and will activate after your sixth year on Earth, or the ninth year of your life. I have appeared to you now to give you some small guidance, as you are now coming to an age when the powers that will separate you from your human counterparts will begin to appear. You are young, but strong, and this globe will guide you for a short time, until your journey to manhood will take you beyond this."

"J-Jor-El?" Clark said. The man who claimed to be his father didn't seem to hear him.

"To begin I must explain your presence on Earth," Jor-El continued gravely. "Our planet Krypton, which is located many millions of light years from this small planet—this third planet from the sun Sol—became unstable not long after your birth. I discovered volcanic instability within our planet and with further research, discovered that our red sun, Rao, was expanding in such a way that within a number of months Krypton would be completely and utterly destroyed, along with all of our people. I tried to persuade the council to listen, but it was in vain. So as our world began to collapse around us, your mother Lara and myself built a spacecraft and sent you, our only son, to safety."

Jor-El's eyes softened as he looked at Clark. "What you see before you now is only a memory. A recording, if you will, to help you as we may. The last time I saw you, you were but an infant. Helpless, yet strong even as you are young. You will be a great man someday, Kal-El, my son. The people of Earth will look up to you for guidance, and as a symbol for hope. Grow into the man that you know they can trust, my son. Know this—that your mother and I loved you, and sent you away only so that you might live—the last son of Krypton."

Clark floated, his heart pounding loud in his chest as he listened to his father reveal answers that he would have done anything for some years before. Answers about his supervision, of his strength, his speed, his hearing. About his ability to fly, and how to control all of these, and even how his powers came from the sun. Jor-El told him how to be cautious in the fear that mankind mind shun him—for uncertainty and fear was that which brought out the worst in the humanity of this planet.

Things that he had already discovered—that he already knew, from trial and error. His human parents had helped him through these years before, or he had discovered them on his own.

"Mankind has long feared that which is different," Jor-El revealed, and his eyes were somewhat troubled as he spoke. "You may have been raised as a human being, Kal-El, but you are not one of them. So to this life we have sent you—to be among them, yet alone. To rule over them, yet never as a tyrant. To be the light to show them the way—a guide to help them on their path through the universe. To be separated from them, yet _alive._"

_You may have been raised as a human being, but you are not one of them_.

Had this man—Jor-El—his biological father, by his claim, known how much that would cut Clark right to the heart? Clark doubted it.

It was hours later that Jor-El—his father—bid him a farewell, telling him that he could listen to this recording five more times over the next few years, to guide him through his new powers. Then, when he came of age, a new guide would call to him.

The light vanished and Clark found himself wavering on his bare feet in the middle of his dark and silent room. The sun was beginning to rise over the barn, shedding its pale light in through his window. The globe was warm in his hands, still humming, but quietly now. Sleeping, once again.

He had biological parents. They had cared about him. They had _saved_ him.

They had tried to leave guidance for him, and even if that hadn't worked, they had _tried. _

But they were dead. All of them. He was all alone. Raised by humans, but not one of them.

Clark set the globe down back on the shelf slowly and stepped back, sliding the compartment shut once again.

Useless as the message would seem, coming so much later than it had meant, and while it left Clark's mind and heart in turmoil, something within him that had been waiting for his whole life settled into place.

"Thank you, father," he whispered.

He still had many questions, but already he felt more complete. He had parents. They had cared for him. He wasn't abandoned, or some freak experiment gone wrong.

He was _Kryptonian._ Before it had been just a word, but now...now it meant something.

But what was this other guide that Jor-El had spoken of? In all human's terms he was certainly "of age," but if the globe had been so long delayed, who knew where or when the second guide would come, if at all?

Clark didn't know. One thing he did know, though, was that he wanted to find his spaceship. If there was another message left for him, he couldn't imagine where else it might be hidden.

"Clark?"

Clark turned sharply, his stomach turning over in fear, even though his mother had taken care to call to him from the doorway. Of course, he should have heard her the moment she had moved from her bed, but his thoughts had been too occupied.

"Mom."

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" She moved to him and put a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Clark said, but he ran his hand through his hair distractedly and went back to sit on his bed. His mom came and sat next to him, watching him closely. Clark shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "The…the globe spoke to me."

"The globe?" Martha repeated, with a glance at the now-hidden compartment. "It _spoke?"_

"It was a message," Clark explained. "From…from my biological father."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Martha. "What does he want with you?" she said, her voice strangely neutral, though her hand clutched his tightly.

Clark looked at her, noticing the fear beneath her words. She was shaking slightly.

She was afraid that his biological father had sent the message, and wanted to take him away.

"It's all right," Clark said. "It was a recording. He's…dead, and has been for some years…since Krypton exploded. They're all dead, Mom."

It was weird to explain it, and it felt cold and inhuman to describe such terrible loss and destruction of life and culture in such few words. It was hard for Clark to wrap his mind around. He had lost a whole civilization that he had hardly even known about. He had already suspected, but to hear it with such certainty...so much finality...

"Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry." His mother sounded sympathetic, but Clark felt her hand relax slightly on his. Her heart slowed slightly with the release of tension.

Clark turned and looked at her closely. "Mom," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "Even if he did want to take me away, I wouldn't just leave you. Not like this. You're my mother. You raised me and made me who I am. I wouldn't just leave you like that."

She had just lost his father. He couldn't just leave her and take off into space now.

_And Lois… _

Martha smiled at him and put a hand on his face, brushing his hair from his eyes. "I know, Clark. I know."

He told her what the globe had told him. As he finished she leaned against him, holding her little fallen star close.

She was just a farmer's wife. A farmer's widow, now. The world was too big for her, sometimes, and beyond that she couldn't even imagine. How in the world or out of it had she been lucky enough to be given this precious star from the heavens?

"So what are you going to do now?" Martha asked, pulling back but keeping her hand in his.

Clark took a deep breath as his mother unintentionally mirrored his father's parting words to him. He looked out the window at the rising sun. "I'm going to help Lois track down Bureau 39 and find my ship. The message in the globe was left for a child, Mom. I need to know more." He hesitated. "That is, when I get back to Metropolis."

Four days. After today, just four more days and he could go back to Metropolis—back to Lois.

Could he last that long? He felt restless, but was conscious of the woman beside him. He couldn't just leave his mom, all alone in this cold, empty house.

Martha nodded and slipped her hand from his, patting his hand as she stood. She walked towards his closet. Clark stayed still, watching her as she opened the door and just stared in at the hanging clothes.

"You can go, Clark."

"What?"

"You can go," Martha repeated, and glanced back at him. "I talked to Ben Hubbard yesterday. I mentioned that you might be leaving a little early for work and he agreed to help me with the farm."

Clark was struggling to catch up. "But—"

"You did enough work yesterday alone to finish up everything that needs attention now, Clark. I can see that look in your eye. Metropolis is calling for you, my boy. She's your city, and I'd be more worried for you if you really did stick around for two whole weeks here, with everything going on in Metropolis. You were meant for bigger things than this farm. Your father…your father always said so."

Clark looked down. "I know, Mom, but…Superman is not back, yet."

"I wasn't talking about Superman," Martha said, turning around and reaching into his closet. Clark expected her to reach for his globe, perhaps, or maybe an extra suit, but to his surprise she reached to a pile of papers on the floor of his closet and pulled out the newspaper that was on top—where Lois Lane's most recent article revealing Bureau 39's intents were smeared over the front page, even if she had left out the hard terror of the truth. "You need to get out there, Clark. The world needs Clark Kent as much as Superman, they just don't realize it."

Martha walked forward and put the paper into his hands, and he looked down at Lois's byline. "Just be careful, okay?" his mother's voice shook the slightest bit on the last word, and Clark gave a small smile as he stood and took his mother in his arms.

"I promise." He held her—feeling so large and clumsy next to her, like an uncertain teenager heading off to college all over again. What was going to happen? Could he do it, all alone in Metropolis?

He could do it. His mother would be there for him, even with the distance between them. She believed in him.

And hopefully, within a couple days he could simply fly back and see her face-to-face.

Clark leaned his cheek against the top of his mother's head and closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, and he meant a whole lot more than just his mother's blessing on his early return to Metropolis.

TBC…


	31. Clark Kent Returns

Wow. Well, everyone, sorry this chapter has taken so long to come out. I intended this part to be about a third as long as it is now, but...well...you know how things get.

Thank you my wonderful reviewers! You make all the time put into this story worth it. Thank you thank you thank you!

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Chapter 31: Clark Kent Returns

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Clark stepped out of the taxi and into the rushing veins of working Metropolis. People bumped into him—brushing and pushing against him—and he winced, feeling claustrophobic and uneasy at the contact. He lifted his briefcase, looked guardedly at the way across the bustling sidewalk he would have to make to get to his destination, and started forward—apologizing every step of the way until he was finally able to inch through towards the revolving doors of the Daily Planet.

He was swept along with the morning rush of news people, and managed to squeeze himself in the farthest corner of the elevator. He pushed against the wall, not touching anyone around him and trying to slow his pounding heart.

No one seemed to notice him, or care. And for now, that suited Clark Kent just fine.

Lois. She was only a few minutes away, now. He counted the floors, adjusting his glasses nervously.

People flowed out, people flowed in. He just watched the numbers.

Would she be glad to see him? He hoped she was there, and not out chasing a lead already. She had been busy in the time he was gone, but he needed to see her.

The elevator stopped on the press floor, and the doors eased open. Clark paused, listening to the sounds of the bullpen before him.

Lois was out there.

The doors started to close.

Catching himself, Clark blinked and moved forward, managing to tread on somebody's toes and trip on someone else's briefcase before stumbling to catch the doors right before they shut. He murmured a general apology and stepped out.

He the door closed behind him and he paused, fixing his coat from the general jostling and hefting his briefcase before starting forward slowly.

Lois wasn't at her desk.

Clark hesitated, but then lowered his glasses to x-ray into Perry's office as he set his briefcase on his desk. The vision had returned during his time at the farm, along with all of his powers except flying, and perhaps his invulnerability. And while there were still faint scars on his arm and leg, even those had all but ceased to pain him, except after a cloudy day of particularly harder work.

Sometimes he could almost pretend that as those scars faded, so would the memories. But he knew that it was a lie; he was changed, and there were some scars, though physically invisible, that would never entirely heal, and now they were as tender as open wounds.

He shook himself, trying to banish the darker thoughts. He was back. Lois was here, and if his powers kept returning, he would be able to ease into things over this weekend, and perhaps by next week he'd be able to fly back to Smallville and see his mom.

Ah. There she was. Standing in Perry's office, her stance one of righteous fury— Lois Lane's trademark stance. He didn't want to eavesdrop, though he was curious, but he contented himself with just watching. He could imagine her words anyway. He could imagine her clipped voice, so melodious even when angry. He drank up the sight of her flashing eyes, the firm set of her mouth, how her arms were crossed before her like a physical barrier.

He wouldn't have minded just staring at her all day.

Lois's fury seemed to be close to bursting. Finally, she threw up her arms and opened Perry's door, and Clark finally let her words reach him.

"Fine, Perry, just fine!" Lois shouted loud enough for the whole bullpen to hear. "But next time I ask for a pay raise, don't lie to me and tell me your budget is too tight. I see right through you!" She slammed the door, and the glass windows shook in their frames enough that Clark was afraid that they might shatter.

She stormed towards her desk, her dark hair flying out behind her like a cape.

She was beautiful.

She strode like a train, heedless of anything in her path, and Clark wondered for a moment if she would barrel right into him and run him down without even noticing, leaving him broken behind her. He would have opened his mouth to warn her, but he seemed to have lost feeling in his tongue. In fact, he seemed to have lost feeling in everything. He was just floating—lost in staring at Lois Lane.

_Lois_.

She didn't run into him, though. In fact, she didn't seem to notice him at all. She stormed right past him and plopped down in her desk, and began sorting through the mess of papers sprawled over her desk—which looked even worse than usual—as she muttered under her breath. Clark winced at some of the harsher sentiments.

She fell silent after a minute, leaning over her papers with such intent so as to close out the rest of the world entirely.

Perry and Jimmy had been right. Lois really _was_ practically foaming at the mouth for this story.

Clark stood there awkwardly. He cleared his throat, both in an attempt to catch her attention and to regain his ability to speak. He adjusted his coat with slightly shaking hands.

"Uh…Lois?"

She jumped and turned around sharply, knocking some of her papers onto the ground. Clark began to apologize, but she swept them up quickly and stood.

" Clark! Hi. Welcome back. I thought you weren't coming in until next Tuesday."

"I…uh, well, you know, I just wanted to get back and…"

Lois was nodding as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad you're back," she said. Clark's heart lifted at her words. "Perry's been trying to keep me on a tight rein; he says it's too dangerous. But with a big guy like you following me around he'll have to loosen up a bit."

She dumped some papers into his hands. "Organize those, will you? I fell asleep reading through them last night and I guess I got a bit mixed up."

Clark looked down at them, peering through the stack with x-ray vision. He gave a slight smile. It looked more like she had thrown the stack off a four-story building before gathering them up at random at the bottom.

"Okay, Lois."

"Oh, and Clark…" Clark looked up at Lois's suddenly softer tone. She looked him right in the eye and looked a bit abashed. "You know, I'm sorry about your dad."

Clark met her eyes. She was so close, so beautiful. He wanted to step forward and hold her and never let go.

He managed to keep his feet in the same place, though he felt like at that moment, he could have flown to her.

"Thank you, Lois," he said softly, looking down.

"I know I was a little…well, you know, before…" Lois gestured helplessly. "It's been a hard time these last few weeks, and I just couldn't think, and then everything with your dad…I guess I kind of am hard to stop when I get going, you know with a story and all, and this was a little more personal." She glanced at him, and saw him looking at her behind his awkward glasses. "Of course, you know about that yourself, seeing as you've been as much in this as I have, of course—"

Clark looked up at her, his smile shy but growing slightly. He loved it when she babbled.

"It's all right, Lois," he said, though his heart settled slightly in his chest. He thought she had been friends with Clark Kent, and her angry and careless reception after his dad's death had thrown doubt into his mind.

He needed her, and her rejection had hurt him, even if she hadn't been cold to all off him—just Clark Kent.

In some ways, that had hurt even more.

She had seen him, stripped of his glory, his strength. She had seen him ripped down to his core—in his most desperate, primal state.

Yet somehow she continued to favor the hero over the man. _Why?_

_Just tell her_.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The papers wrinkled in his hands from his tightening grip.

"Are you okay?" Lois said, noticing his sudden stillness and pale color.

Clark took a deep breath, but didn't risk looking at her as he sought for something to focus on. He eased his grip on the papers, smoothing the wrinkles and a couple dog-eared pages with extra care.

"Y-yeah," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Kent," Lois said, sounding exasperated as she turned back to her desk. "It's not like I'd be crying a river if my father died, but your dad…he was a nice guy, from what I met of him."

"Despite his…cross-dressing?" Clark ventured, trying at a joke bravely.

Lois glared back briefly at him. "Oh, shut up, Smallville."

Clark grinned at that, even though it lacked the former brightness that had been there before…before.

Things were getting back to normal. Everything was going to be fine.

Except that his Dad was dead, and had been jumping at shadows since getting back to Metropolis.

Clark took a deep breath, watching her for a moment before pulling himself away and to his own desk.

He sat down slowly, shifting the papers to one hand and letting his other hand drift over his desktop slowly as his computer started up. He felt like a stranger there, like he didn't quite belong—like he was waiting for the real Clark Kent to walk in through the elevator doors and take his place.

He took a deep breath. No. He was here. This was real.

" Clark," Lois clapped a hand on his shoulder and he jumped, dropping half of the papers on the ground as he flinched. "Oh! Sorry."

Clark bent down to pick up the papers. "No—it's all right," he muttered. He straightened, putting the further-wrinkled and disorganized papers safely on his desk. "Sorry, I—I guess I was just a bit…distracted."

"Never mind," Lois said, turning and grabbing her purse from her desk. "Come along. Those papers can wait. I just got a call from Bobby Bigmouth, and I think we've finally got something."

"We?" Clark repeated, slightly surprised but feeling that warm feeling in his chest again. Lois had always been reluctant to let _any_ partner into her stories, especially ones she had been working on so hard alone.

"Perry made me promise to let you back in once you got back," Lois said, rolling her eyes. "He says it's not safe." She muttered something under her breath, and Clark cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose, a bit embarrassed at the rude comment.

"So…what did Bobby Bigmouth have?" he asked, even as he stood and followed her towards the elevator.

"An address," Lois replied, turning to wave a piece of paper in his face even while she continued to walk, though she had to walk backwards for a couple steps to do it. She hit the "down" button on the elevator without looking behind her. "You've been following my series on Bureau 39, right? Well, General McPheron—if that's his real name—and his men completely disappeared, but Bobby thinks he has a lead to them…and it's about time, too.

Clark's mouth had gone a bit dry. "Where?" he asked, his voice only slightly unsteady.

"It's a warehouse in the Hobb's Bay area." The elevator opened and Lois stepped in.

Clark felt as if the ground had vanished under his feet—not entirely an unfamiliar feeling, but this time it was quite a bit more uncomfortable. He stared after Lois, feeling cemented in place as he froze.

" Clark?"

Clark blinked and bumbled forward, catching the elevator doors as they started closing before him for the second time that day, and this time managing to trip on the crack between the floor and the elevator. Lois caught his arm and rolled her eyes as she pressed the floor button.

"Honestly, Clark, I understand if you're a little off balance from everything that's happened, but please, just for a few minutes…stay with me, okay?"

_I'd stay with you forever, Lois_.

"Okay," Clark said unsteadily, pushing his glasses up. "Sorry."

Lois gave him a glance like he was being intentionally dense. He gave her a nervous smile back, lifting his eyebrows in question.

"What?" he asked innocently.

Lois just shook her head and pushed the floor button again, as if that might possible make the elevator go faster.

"L-Lois? Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, shouldn't we call the police? What if…what if it's just a set up…like before?" His voice started nervous, and ended in almost a whisper.

Lois glared at him. "We can't trust them, Clark. For all we know, they're working right alongside these people. They're all government people, and I have a feeling Henderson knew more than he was telling." Clark opened his mouth to speak again, but Lois cut him off. "Honestly, Kent, I thought you came back here to work, not to hide. I'm going. If you want to get put on dog shows instead, feel free to head on up and tell Perry."

There was one thing for sure—much as Clark was sick at the thought of running into Bureau 39 again, he'd jump right into their hands again if it meant protecting Lois.

That was one thing he would never regret.

Just as she was willing to do the very same for him, Clark realized. Or Superman, at least.

He shook himself, wiping his palms on his pant legs and adjusting his glasses with a shaking hand that he forced himself to still.

He had to focus. He couldn't let fear stop him.

He tossed out his mind, determined to think of something else. Luckily, here it wasn't that difficult at all to find a much more pleasant distraction.

They stood there in silence. Lois watched the doors, and Clark watched her, a small, unexpected smile growing on his face.

It was great to be back, if only to be at Lois's side again.

Lois caught sight of his smile and frowned at him. "What?" she demanded.

Clark started and adjusted his glasses. His smile turned a little guilty. "Well, you know—it's just good to be back, I guess."

Lois's eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and her stance was defensive and somewhat angry as she turned around, despite the tired shadow across her brow.

He should tell her. She deserved to know.

Clark glanced around needlessly—the elevator was empty but for them. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets to try and hide his shaking, through his fingers were damp with cold sweat. He cleared his throat.

"Uh…Lois?"

"Yeah, Clark?" She didn't even turn to look at him.

Clark felt like his heart was about to pound right out of his chest. "I…" His voice cracked—his mouth was strangely dry—and he swallowed, and leaned against the elevator wall behind him as the world seemed to tip. "I…I—"

The elevator doors opened and Lois gave him a minute glance while she strode forward. Her lips were still tight, and her voice was clipped. "What?"

Someone pushed by Clark and he flinched aside at the rough contact as he hurried to keep up with Lois. "It's n-nothing. Never mind."

Lois glanced at him. Something itched and irritated her at the back of her mind, behind a growing frustration. Now that Clark was back she felt the hole where Superman should have been even more than before. After all, they were the two men that she cared about in her life—though the kind of care was quite different between the two of them—and they had come around during the same time. When one was there, it just seemed like the other should be close by.

Besides, she had gotten pretty good and not thinking about Kal-El…for most of the time. His face only floated before hers during some moments, rather than constantly. But for some reason it seemed like every time she looked at Clark all she could think of was Superman.

It was annoying her. She and Melinda had spent most of their second appointment together on Wednesday talking about it. Again, while Lois couldn't speak the specifics of what had happened with Kal-El, the woman was surprisingly helpful. But that didn't keep her from arguing with Perry about it every time she got the chance—like she had been before running into Clark Kent back at his desk.

She glanced up at the sky as she passed through the revolving doors of The Daily Planet, ignoring Clark as he followed awkwardly behind her. There was no sign of any blue blur against the cloud-riddled sky, though she was silly to have expected to see it. She shook her head at herself as she flagged down a taxi.

The first two ignored her, and Clark stepped forward. "Uh…here…let me."

He moved forward to wave down a taxi, then slowed his steps as he gave a loud whistle. Lois jumped slightly—the whistle was surprisingly loud and piercing clear, startling some pigeons from the ledges of some windows overhead and making more than a few pedestrians turn and look at him, but a taxi pulled to a stop immediately.

" Nice, Kent," Lois said, stepping down past him towards the taxi. Clark grinned and followed, but managed to trip on the curb and knocked into her back, though not hard. He apologized, but she didn't even bother to reply as she climbed into the taxi and barked off the address, leaving Clark to clamber in as quickly as he could. Or maybe not as quickly as he could, but at least as quickly as a normal man of his size should have been able to, though he did manage to catch his long coat in the door as he closed it and had to open it again to get himself all the way in. "Very nice," Lois said, rolling her eyes.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the noise of Metropolis was closed off by the inside air of the taxi.

"Where's your jeep?" Clark asked.

Lois sighed. "In the shop. I…had a bit of a mess getting away from B-bureau 39, you know?"

Ah. Clark remembered. She had mentioned something about getting shot at to Superman, but not that it had come so close—not that bullets might have actually hit her car. He stared at her, his heart rising to his throat as he realized how much danger she had gone through.

She could have died, as he had lain unconscious in the back seat, helpless as a bullet swept away her beautiful soul and left him alone.

He shivered.

Lois seemed to be concentrating on _not_ looking at him, for some reason, which was probably a good thing, Clark thought as he quickly wiped his face of those dark memories for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day.

He didn't want her to recognize him, not because of that.

"You Lois Lane?" the taxi driver asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that had once again fallen.

There was a pause as Lois turned from looking out the window to the man with narrowed eyes. Clark looked at him for the first time too, feeling suddenly defensive.

He was a typical taxi driver—with some slight scruff but a general good air about him, but he was wearing a deep, dark red jacket that made Clark blink and look away quickly, his hands clenched and his stomach churning.

_No. _It was gone. It was no more. Clark slowly dragged his eyes back to the man, forcing himself to look to look back at the fabric. He made himself drink in the dark red color, looking closely at the fabric until he saw the texture of the threads and the fading from wear—not the deep, coursing blood that had first threatened to rise up and blind him.

It was over. He let out a long, slow breath, and came back to himself just as Lois spoke. It seemed like she had taken a long time in answering, considering how everything had froze at first sight of the color.

Clark felt a sudden urge to laugh at the thought of him—Superman—nearly hyperventilating at the sight of a red coat…but even mentally the laugh was feeble and mirthless and didn't get to his lips before it died.

"Yes," Lois said slowly, her hands on her purse as if ready to use it as a weapon. Clark was tempted to x-ray in to see if she had a brick in there, but resisted, instead mentally checking to see how he could slip between the two seats and reach the break if he needed to put the man out of commission…maybe by knocking him over the head? "Why?"

"Well," the man actually looked somewhat abashed. "I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but I have two kids who…well, I guess we're all worried, is what I'm trying to say, Miss Lane. Have you…heard from the big guy at all?"

Lois's eyes narrowed and she sat back.

"No," she said.

The man deflated slightly. "Well, I guess you wouldn't. It's just…well, I'm sure you know already."

"Yeah, I know," Lois said, but her voice lacked any bite. She paused, storm clouds gathering over her brow as she frowned again, but this time not at the driver. "Why don't you ask Clark here? _He _was the last one to see Superman, after all."

"What?" Clark asked, taken unprepared as both the driver's and Lois's attentions turned to him.

" Clark," Lois said, and there was actually a light of hope in her eyes. "Have _you_ seen Superman?"

Clark winced. "Uh…no." It _was_ true—the suits were still quite neatly packed away at his apartment. But even if Superman had come back, he'd hardly be yapping about it yet in front of this complete stranger.

Lois's shoulders slumped and the light in her eyes faded. It looked like the woman's spirit had been punched right in the gut. It only lasted a moment, though, before she straightened and a stubborn light appeared in her eye—like a knight armoring up for battle.

"He'll be back, though," she said, her voice firm as she leaned back to look out the window to the cloudy sky again. "He will."

Lois had the taxi drive right on past the address, and they looked over at the dark and seemingly deserted building. Clark didn't hesitate to try to x-ray inside, but the key word was "try." The building was clearly either lead-lined or coated with lead paint, like many of the older buildings in this area of the city.

Lois called the taxi to a stop a good block away from the address she had been given. The taxi drove off, leaving them both standing on the edge of the street, overshadowed by the grey buildings around them. Lois looked down at the paper in her hand, then glanced around to get her bearings before starting off with a bold stride.

It took Clark an extra second to tear his eyes from the warehouses and he moved quickly to catch up with his partner. "Uh, Lois?"

"Sh, Clark!" Lois muttered, glancing around. "We'll head around the back and look for a side door. There's no point in being dense and just walking right to the front door and all."

Clark was not going to suggest such a thing, of course, and Lois must have known that, surely. He didn't like the condescending tone of her voice.

"What are you hoping to find?" Clark asked, hesitantly. "Why don't we do a stakeout tonight, instead of just rushing in like this? I'll bring dinner?" It wouldn't be anything extraordinary, but he knew about a few good take-out places in Metropolis, even if they didn't quite equal authentic Chinese food.

Lois didn't even look back at him as she paused, glancing around the corner into a filthy alleyway between two towering buildings. She darted inside, leaving Clark to follow. "I've got…something else, tonight," she said, sounding annoyed. Clark felt a pain in his chest at the flat rejection. "Besides, Bobby said there weren't many people about—just a few coming and going. It could just be a meeting place, rather than an actual base or whatever. Besides, we don't know if they're even going to stick around that much longer, and I am _not_ about to lose another lead on these guys."

Clark wasn't ready to back down. His chest was beginning to feel tight and restricted at the terrible fear of what might happen if they were caught.

He hated it, that fear. He had always known some fear and uncertainty of being captured, it but was never so real—so tangible. He had never been so _terrified_ of being on a case with Lois.

Before, he had thought himself all but invincible. Even in dire straits he had been quite calm with the belief that everything would turn out all right. Now, he was only all too aware of his limits and weakness.

How did normal people do this? How did they face life day-by-day, always so uncertain about what could happen next? How could Lois be so _reckless_ to risk so much when she was so terribly mortal?

And it would be a lie if Clark were to say he wasn't afraid for himself as well.

He swallowed, glancing around the next corner with Lois and glancing around quickly for any hidden cameras.

He had to be ready. Even if he wasn't at full strength—he wasn't sure what would happen if he had to try and stop a speeding bullet—he had to be ready. He couldn't let fear stop him.

He had to get over this.

_What were they doing? _He should grab Lois and get out of there!

No. Truth, justice…these were what he stood for. He couldn't let fear hold him back, or Superman would never come back, no matter if his powers came back or not.

_You'll be okay._

Clark took a deep breath, keeping his hearing focused. If he was blind to whatever was in the building, at least he could hear.

A car drove past in the street, which was visible just around the corner which Lois was currently peeking around. A couple long-haired and rugged men were walking on the sidewalk across the street, smoking and muttering about how it looked like it was going to rain. A rat scurried in the rubbage, and he could hear the bugs rustling around in the grime and filth of the rusted and overflowing garbage dumpster.

No cameras, from what he could hear or see, though he spent extra time looking for any lens that may reveal a camera hiding behind a lead shield.

Nothing.

Clark was jerked out of his careful observation as Lois ducked and darted across the alleyway.

"Lois!" Clark bit his lip, glancing towards the street again before ducking and following her, but feeling as conspicuous as…well…as he did when he flew around in blue tights.

Lois tugged on the silver doorknob that stuck out of a dull grey door. It was locked, but she didn't even pause before reaching into her purse and drawing out a keychain with a bunch of different-sized picks decorating its loop. Clark shook his head mentally—Lois had apparently upgraded from bobby-pins and credit cards.

"Isn't it a little risky to try and break and enter in the middle of the day?" Clark asked dryly, ignoring, for now, the warning fear in his heart.

Lois grunted. "Around here it's probably safer," she said from where she was crouched down, her head cocked as she glared at the lock as if she might get it to open through sheer will.

Clark shook his head at her and crouched down beside her, but didn't lean against the wall behind him. He wasn't exactly sure what filth covered the lower part of the grey wall, but he didn't really want to know.

_Thuh-thump, thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. _

Clark tensed suddenly, causing Lois to look at him. That was a heart beat, though he hadn't recognized it beside his pounding heart, Lois's familiar thrum, and the general continuous, gentle murmur of the city's hearts. But no—this was closer.

"What?" Lois demanded, still feeling around with her pick in the lock.

"I…I thought I heard something," Clark murmured.

Lois paused at that, looking down the alley towards the street as another car drove by. The rat in the garbage knocked over an old rusted coffee tin and tipped out of the trash with a squeak before darting off back into the mess.

Lois rolled her eyes. "Nice, Kent. If you see another one, just let me know and I'll scare it off for you."

"I think I can take care of a little rat on my own," Clark replied, trying for a light tone despite Lois's frustrated one.

"Of course not. Sorry, I forgot the whole 'I grew up on a farm' thing. I'll make sure not to forget again."

_Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump_. _Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. _

There was more than one of them. At least two, maybe three, and maybe even more than that. They were unfamiliar, and slurred together like a lazy melody of bubbling, muddy water. And Clark was quite sure that they were inside the building, only a few walls or rooms away from the pale grey door which Lois seemed so determined to open.

_"Well?"_

It was a single word that Clark heard—a man's voice, stern, slightly gruff, but not one he recognized. There was no answer. Maybe whoever had been addressed had given some nonverbal gesture in reply.

_"Get on back to it, then." _

Clark glared at the wall, as if perhaps if he tried hard enough he could see through it, lead or no.

Footsteps sounded on hard floor as two of the beating hearts moved away from a third, finally separating their sounds. Whoever was left just stood (or sat?) still, breathing in and out heavily and…smoking?

Clark had rarely used his superhearing for such blatant spying, and he concentrated, intrigued at what he could hear, and trying to figure out what was going on.

_Thu-thump. Thuh-thump. Inhale. Exhale. _

_SNAP!_

Clark jumped at the sound that was so loud and close, compared to that which he had been focused on. Lois swore as one of her picklocks snapped, but hardly hesitated before selecting another one and diving towards the lock to try again.

"Uh…Lois?" Clark asked, his voice a bare whisper. "What do you plan to do once you get in? What if there's someone inside?"

"Good," Lois said through teeth gritted. "I don't expect them to leave condemning paperwork lying around, so a quote would be nice."

Clark stared at her, amazed at her bravery. The woman was relentless

_Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. SNAP! _

Clark jumped again at the sound, his own heart beat picking up a pace as he reached up to grab his ears instinctively.

Lois swore again, this time pushing away from the door with the broken picklocks in her hand.

"Fail-proof picklocks my foot," she spat, stuffing the ring back into her purse. "I want a refund."

She turned her back to him, walking a couple steps down the alley and looking around.

Clark glanced at the lock as Lois moved along the wall. He glanced at her, then back to the lock.

It would be so easy just to break it. He had done it plenty of times before.

But the building was lead-lined. Who knew what was on the other side? Even if Lois seemed almost eager to meet up with whoever was there, Clark couldn't think of a worse situation. All right, maybe he could, but he didn't want to think of such a one, and running into Bureau 39 again would be bad enough on its own.

He couldn't let them get caught again.

But they had to figure this out. He had to bring Bureau 39 to justice. Fear could not be allowed to conquer.

He turned away from the door, fixing his glasses with a shaking hand. "Uh, Lois?"

She was busy stacking a pile of rickety boxes, her eyes fixed determinedly on a small window some feet above her head.

"Come help me, Clark. That door is not going to just disappear, no matter how long you stare at it."

Clark walked towards her, his dress shoes crunching on gravel, metal, and dried grime.

"Good. Now get me that big box over there. The wood one."

Clark turned and eyed the box she had gestured towards. It was rickety, half-rotted, and had rusted nails sticking out at odd angles. He frowned, wondering if he should be worried about possible blood poisoning if his invulnerability proved too weak against the rusted metal.

He certainly didn't want Lois climbing up onto it, that was for sure.

"Uh, Lois, I—"

_Click, click, crick, crunk, crunch, crunch… _

Clark cut off sharply, his hearing narrowing in at the sound of footsteps…around the back of the building.

"What Clark?" Lois demanded, but he was looking away from her, down the alley. The steps were coming—let them turn away, Clark prayed—but no…They were growing slightly louder in Clark's ears. They were coming. " Clark—"

There was no time. Clark took the time they had and acted. He grabbed Lois's arm and pulled her behind the heaping dumpster.

"Ow! Clark!" Lois had the sense of mind to keep the exclamation soft even as she jerked her arm away from his grip.

Clark pulled back as if burned. "Did I hurt you, Lois?"

Lois gave him an odd look at his reaction. "Dream on, farm boy. Now what the—"

"Sh!" Clark held out a hand to signal her to silence, and she obeyed, surprisingly. Clark rose slightly, pretending to peer over the over laden dumpster, but in truth settling to peering right _through_ it.

A man in black—clearly some sort of uniform, but with no markings that Clark recognized—came around the corner. He paused, holding a large gun and standing still at the intersection of the alleyway and his previous path.

Clark's own heartbeat was thunderous in his own ears. Surely even a normal human being must have been able to hear it.

"T-there's someone over there, Lois," Clark said, his voice so low that Lois understood him more from watching his lips than from hearing. "And…he's in uniform."

"What?" Lois immediately began to rise, but at that moment that man turned and headed right down the way towards them with a slow, deliberate step.

Clark didn't need to warn Lois—even she could hear the steady approach by now, and lowered her self back down. Her eyes fixed towards the sound, her face slightly pale, but determined.

Could they fight their way out? Would they be able to stay hidden enough in this shallow shadow beside the mountain of garbage, or should they try to run?

_Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Crunch. Crunch._

Clark's heart went still.

There were other footsteps—coming in the other direction. Clark looked back to see another uniformed man, and felt his blood go cold in his limbs.

There was no time, and there was no chance they weren't going to be seen.

Lois had a hand in her purse and was edging forward, her face grim as she tensed as if ready to attack, but she didn't know about the second guard.

There was no time to act. There was no place to go…but up.

It was time.

Clark stepped forward, taking hold of Lois's arm and pulling her against him. Her body was warm against his, and he felt his own heart burn inside of him, chasing even his fear away. He gathered all the memories, dreams, and emotions of flying before pushing off from the ground.

TBC...

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!! (Please?)


	32. Eagle, Fox, or Snake?

This chapter is dedicated to my anonymous big brother, who as of last week didn't know about this story or about fanfiction in general at all. He came upon me as I was writing chapter 31, and with practiced speed I quickly shut my laptop, but for once he was not willing to take the usual dismissal that I was doing "nothing." Upon his insistence (and because of his wounded-puppy dog expression) I admitted the truth and explained it all to him. Though I think he is not fully uncritical of our fanfictionish way of being, he nonetheless has read all of DD that is posted. He actually contributed very significantly in the editing and suggestions for this next chapter, after listening to my rantings about how certain parts of it were very dissatisfying to me.

Of course, he is also greatly responsible for the fact that it took an extra day and a half to get this chapter out, due to the fact that he gave me some ideas that could not be ignored. So if you don't want to thank him, I put all blame that would land on me on him. ;) :D

I hope you enjoy…

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Chapter 32: Eagle, Fox, or Snake?

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All of Clark's hopes and illusions crashed back down onto him as he found that his feet hadn't lifted even an inch from off the firm ground beneath him.

He found he couldn't move, not even to let Lois go. His arms were around her, but he began to shake. They were still there, standing in the middle of a trash-strewn alley under a grey sky. They were trapped.

Lois had been leaning forward, intent on the approaching guard, when suddenly had Clark caught her from behind, spun her around, and wrapped his arms around her like she was a giant teddy bear before going completely still.

_What the…? _

"Clark! What are you—?" Lois struggled against him, but Clark hold on her didn't relax. He seemed to have frozen, and his arms were stiff around her, though they began to shake slightly, and his dark eyes drifted down from the space of sky between the two tall warehouses around them and he looked at her, his expression pale and shocked. " Clark—!"

"All right, you lovebirds. Hands up."

Lois went still and both she and Clark turned their faces towards the man slowly, both of them caught in white expressions of stark fear. A moment later the second guard appeared in their view, his own gun raised.

Lois swore, and Clark the blood drained from Clark's face.

_No_. Nonononononono…

They hadn't flown. He was grounded—trapped again. Caught and caged like a bird with its wings clipped.

What could he do? He could use his laser vision to melt their guns, but how could he explain that? He could use superspeed to take out the guards, but he couldn't kill them. He couldn't cross that line. But if they lived they would remember his face, and perhaps realize that the as-of-yet-dismissed man that was shivering like a leaf in the wind behind Lois Lane was none other than the superhero himself.

And then his family, his friends, his life…nothing would be safe.

But what was the alternative? The bland grey walls of the buildings rose up around him, but he saw white walls instead.

"Hands up," the soldier repeated, gesturing sharply with his gun.

Lois's throat was too tight to speak, right now, though she had well been waiting for the soldier—and even, perhaps, more than one—to appear.

She pried herself away from Clark's slack but somehow still somewhat firm embrace, pushing him away from her with a little more force than was necessary. She took enoughtime to give him a disgusted look before she turned to the soldier, her expression set and defiant despite her washed-out color.

_We are _not_ lovebirds,_ Lois wanted to snap, feeling a rise of fury at her partner, who was now no doubt quivering behind her. Right now, she wasn't even sure if she felt much like even _tolerating_ the man's cowardice. She was too busy fighting her own terror to worry about Clark's.

_They had her. They had her. They had her. They had her_.

Lois stifled the gibbering voice mercilessly, gritting her teeth and concentrating on righteous anger.

These men might very well be a part of Bureau 39—the people responsible for hurting Superman. They might be part of the other government group, seeking to follow Bureau 39's example. And Clark Kent had reacted by the guard's appearance like a baby grabbing his mother's apron. What had _that_ been about?

_Useless idiot._

"I already called backup," the second man said grimly to the first. "We've got them covered."

"Backup?" Lois repeated, taking the opportunity to find her voice again, though it was slightly hoarse. "I-I see my reputation precedes me." She cleared her throat.

_Nonononononono… _

_Shut up!_

She pushed the maddening rambling of fear into the smallest corner of her mind, and though it still continued to gibber, she could ignore it for now.

The guard frowned at her as he slid his radio onto his belt.

"We've been expecting you," he said flatly.

"How?" Lois demanded, and was pleased at the sharp edge of her voice this time. No trace of fear, uncertainty, or nervousness. She was in control.

_She wasn't going to think of what might happen, if… _

She crossed her arms boldly before her to hide their shaking.

"No one knew we were coming here, except for us, the taxi driver, and…" Lois trailed off. The taxi driver wouldn't have had time to alert anyone, even if she had been unfortunate enough to choose the one taxi in the city with a government undercover operative. That left only one person. "Bobby Bigmouth," she said, her voice like frozen venom. Why, that snake! The double-crosser had double-crossed them. Betrayal struck through her heart like a lance, followed quickly by anger like a roaring furnace.

One more man to be pinned up on a dart board, once she got out of here. They would all pay.

"No questions," the soldier stated. "Come out and follow our directions. No false moves either, Miss Lane. We know what you're capable of."

Lois didn't move for a moment, and neither did the guns. She stepped forward slowly, causing the soldiers to back out slightly to keep her in sight of their guns, but distant enough to be safe from any possible attack.

"You too, lover-boy."

Lois realized that Clark still hadn't moved. She had almost forgotten him, in the tight, closed place of her mind—she wasn't letting anything leak in or out. She couldn't afford it, right now. But as she turned slightly she found that he was still frozen stark-still and was staring at the guards almost unseeingly.

The man was going into shock, Lois thought.

Clark felt frozen. His legs were leaden, and his lungs had risen into his throat and were choking him, even as his heart grew into a painful knife in his chest. He couldn't breathe, and the world was beginning to blur before his eyes.

No. He had to focus on something…it wasn't real. But it _was_ real. They had come back. They'd found him again.

_No_. They didn't know it was him. They didn't know.

"Clark!"

Lois's voice was sharp and impatient, cutting through the veil and catching him by the throat to yank him back to reality. It certainly wasn't as pleasant as other times when she had helped him back, but it worked, more or less.

He consciously filled his tightened lungs with too-thin air and focused on breathing. He would be no good to either of them if he had a panic attack.

But he still hadn't moved. One of the guards stepped forward, clearly set on using some force if necessary, and Lois made her own move.

Her hand hadn't left her purse, even during the awkward bear hug that Clark had given her, and now she pulled out the gun she held as the guard put his attention towards the unmoving man. The soldier didn't have time to react before Lois sighted him and pulled the trigger.

He went down with a jerk as the electricity that shot from Lois's taser through him and effectively paralyzed him.

A bare moment later no less than five more guards rushed into the small alley. The shocked man was dragged aside, and Lois stood, outwardly calm and still as they milled around her and yanked the taser from her hand, even while her mind was jabbering nonsensical terror once again.

She was above these scum. She had their necks halfway in a noose already, and they just didn't know it. She took a deep breath and held it to try and still her shaking as they took the taser and her purse from her before searching her for any more weapons and pulling her arms behind her back to handcuff them there.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

Superman wasn't here. They couldn't hurt her. She had nothing to worry about, only justice.

She had no reason to fear. This was her big break, after weeks of searching. This was her triumph. She had to remember that, no matter how much she wanted to break down into a heap of desperate sobs and cries, and to turn and flee the nightmares of memory.

They had her.

_Stop that, curse you_, Lois snarled at the quivering girl in her head. She wouldn't think about that now. Now, she was nothing. A machine of justice, with no past…no memories. No memories of waking with hot tears of desperation and fear on her face, no memories of screams and blood and desperation…

Clark was pulled out of his frozen state as he felt a hand grab at his arm roughly—right over his still-tender scar as a soldier tried to yank it behind his back to restrain him. He gasped and pulled back sharply at the contact, losing his balance and hitting into the dumpster behind him.

_Crack! _

His head slammed back, no doubt leaving a good-sized dent in the metal.

_Nonononononono. _

Lois turned sharply at the noise, to find that Clark had fallen back against the dumpster, and was now pressed against it as if he might push right through the metal bin as he tried to get away from the guard in front of him. He clutched one arm against his stomach, and Lois was surprised at the shock of pain that darted through her heart at the thought that they might have hurt him.

_Kal-El._

She didn't see Clark there. She saw Superman, pressed against the wall as he tried to get away from the guards as if he could vanish against the white walls around him. His face was pale and terrified, his eyes blank with memories of his own.

Clark clutched his arm that the guard had tried to twist, cradling it against his stomach in remembered pain. Hands grasped at him, and he pushed back further, trying to get away from them. The dumpster groaned softly at the pressure from his back.

"C-Clark," Lois said insistently. "Clark, listen to me!"

Clark froze, going absolutely still as if her words were some sort of spell. His eyes didn't move from the guard in front of him. He looked like he was going to pass out, or be sick, or maybe both.

That would do no good, Lois thought. If it became necessary for her to take some action, she didn't want to have to worry about an unconscious Goliath of a farm boy, especially if she had to worry about him choking on his own stomach's contents at the same time.

"Clark, look at me," Lois said, slowly and firmly, though her voice shook the slightest bit, but that was all the sign of her own fear, besides the slight remaining pallor of her own face.

Her tone demanded that he obeyed. Clark didn't have any choice in the matter. His eyes slid slowly from the guard towards her, and he blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Lois." It was little more than a whisper. He blinked and shook his head, and Lois was immediately concerned. Had he hit his head when he fell against the dumpster? But as she watched his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he slowly uncurled his arms from around himself and put them on the ground beside him to lift himself up. He rose slowly, and an angle of sunlight that lanced between the two tall buildings on either side of them turned into a strange, golden halo in the dark hair framing his pale face. The guards watched him warily.

"S-sorry," Clark muttered, and reached up to push up his glasses in a nervous action that seemed almost ridiculous in the face of the fear that had grasped him only moments before. Lois stared at him in disbelief at the apology. Was he _joking, _or just insane? His eyes went back to the guard and his jaw tightened again, his breathing catching slightly.

"Listen, Smallville," Lois said firmly, managing to sound very critical despite—or perhaps because of—her pounding heart. "Panicking isn't going to help us right now."

Clark looked away from her, almost ashamedly, but he did nod. One of the guards stepped forward and caught his arms, but he did little more than flinch as the metal closed around his wrists. He pulled tentatively at the handcuffs, and felt his fear ease marginally as he felt the metal begin to bend easily with the motion. He was still unnaturally pale as they went through his clothes in search of any weapons. After a moment they pulled a pocketknife from his right pocket, and Clark opened his mouth to object.

His Dad had given him that knife, years and years ago.

At the last moment Clark caught the words and closed his mouth again, biting his lip and looking down. Right. Like these people would let him keep a knife for sentimental reasons.

He was losing it.

They were prodded forward, and Lois walked forward proudly, while Clark stumbled slightly to catch up to her side. He waited for a moment, still chewing on his lip before realizing what he was doing and consciously stopping. He looked around cautiously, looking for some chance of escape without doing anything unusual.

Conversely, Lois looked quite calm, and her eyes barely wavered from straight ahead. Her eyes were narrowed and her mind spinning as she walked boldly into the lion's den with a whip and a fiery brand.

If she was going to be caught again, she was going to be the ones asking the questions.

After a moment Clark leaned slightly and spoke softly, though Lois thought that was useless considering the fact that their captors would have little problem hearing him.

"Lois," Clark said. "S-stay close, okay? We…we're better off t-together, you know?"

Despite the serious circumstances, Lois was tempted to roll her eyes. Like Clark Kent could do anything to help her, but he was right about one thing—he'd be in big trouble if it weren't for her.

"Don't worry, Clark," Lois said, whispering herself, though she wanted to kick herself from falling into the he's-whispering-so-I-am-whispering trap. She leaned in slightly, actually bumping his arm with her own. "Just don't, you know, do anything…sssstupid, okay?" she emphasized, and hoped he picked up the hint.

Clark looked at her blankly at that, and Lois sighed, wishing she had her hands to gesture her meaning. "You know…no, well, _super_ things, okay?"

Clark stiffened at her words, his eyes widening as he pulled away and stared at her. "What?" his whisper was almost harsh.

_Did Lois know?_

Lois wanted to scream. Was the man _really_ that dense? She had enough to worry about without having to deal with a terrified tagalong who couldn't see a brick wall if he ran into it!

She leaned in, speaking even softer into his ear, and her warm breath brushed against the side of his neck. "Don't you dare call him, Clark."

She saw his brow smooth at his words and the smallest bit of color came back into his cheeks—probably from embarrassment, Lois thought. "Oh. Of—of course, Lois."

He still didn't look very stable, Lois thought. He looked as tense as a stretched cable ready to snap, and as her arm rubbed against his she could feel the small quivers that moved down his tall frame. Gritting her teeth, she leaned forward again.

"Clark, I promise, everything will be okay. Just…stay close to me, like you said. Trust me."

Trust her. Trust her after she had dragged him into this, only a few weeks after their last imprisonment, though that time it hadn't been together. Still, the man had clearly been affected by it, even if nothing had really happened to him. For people not conditioned to it like Lois, she was not sure how much it would take to get over such a thing.

Besides, this was Clark Smallville Kent, the innocent Boy Scout with wide blue eyes and an open expression. When Bureau 39 had nabbed him, it had been as bad as kidnapping a little kid. It was no surprise he was a bit shaken up. His whole world had been turned on end.

Lois had always known that the world was a dirty, nasty place to be, with only a few moments when you were able to step away and drift above the clouds…

_Superman_.

She gritted her teeth, stamping down on her thoughts again. She was going to focus. She was going to solve this, for him.

Curse the man for leaving her.

Lois pulled away from Clark's side, walking independently again, and he watched her.

_He was okay. They didn't know who he was. They had no reason to suspect him_.

He could protect her.

There was no sign of any kryptonite yet. But Lois had told him—as Superman—that a government operation had taken the compound from Bureau 39. These men could belong to that group, and they could very well have the green crystal. They could just be waiting…

Waiting for Superman to show up.

But Lois's tone had been more than just a warning when she told him not to call Superman. It had been more than accepting a fate in order to save the superhero. No. Her eyes had a light behind them—something keeping her own fear and desperation away. She had a plan, for something.

And if he needed to, he would get her out of there in a moment, no matter the consequences to himself.

They didn't speak as they were ushered to the side door and allowed inside. The warehouse was open and bare, with skeletons of metal columns reaching up to the webbed catwalks that stretched across the high ceilings. The floor was dusty and empty bins lay scattered around like giant dust bunnies.

The group stopped, and Clark heard one of their guards speaking softly into a hand set to another man—the smoking unknown man, as Clark recognized his voice away from the ring of almost suffocating thrumming of heartbeats around him.

_"You've got her?" _

"Yes sir."

_"Secure?" _

"As ordered."

_"Very well." _

"Sir?"

_"Yes?" _

"She's not alone, sir. There's a man with him. Tall, dark-haired."

A pause. _"A threat?"_

"I'm not sure, sir."

_"Very well. Hold them for me." _

Clark stiffened as he heard the man stand—he must have been sitting, considering the sigh and soft grunt that came before the footsteps. A door eased open, and Clark heard the steps coming down a hallway from some offices on the other side of the large warehouse space.

"I want to talk to McPheron, or whoever is in charge here," Lois demanded to the guards around her, her voice firm and in-control despite the guard that had come to stand behind her. Clark shifted slightly, coming closer to her almost protectively. She actually felt somewhat comforted by his tall shadow beside her for a moment, though the idea was ridiculous. Still, Clark was quite a bit taller than any of the guards there, and having him close made her feel safer, no matter how useless he really was right then.

_Foolish subconscious mind_, Lois swore, then cut off that train of thought viciously, turning her attention back on the guards. "Who are you with? What do you want?" The gazes of the hard-faced men turned on her. Clark stiffened slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but Lois nudged him sharply and sent a warning glare in his direction, effectively shutting him up, though he didn't look settled. He shifted awkwardly beside her.

The guard with the radio stepped over and looked at her, but didn't answer any of her questions. "Breaking and entering is against the law in Metropolis, isn't it?"

"Sure," Lois said coolly. "But seeing as you grabbed us as we were just walking by, I don't see the pertinence of the question, unless you're referring to yourself. Last time I checked, dairy packaging didn't have their employees dress in army fatigues."

The soldier frowned at her, and Lois smirked slightly back.

Clark took a deep breath. "Are you with Bureau 39?" he asked, his voice low. Several of the soldiers blinked and stared at him, and Lois with them, and he quickly stuttered and swallowed nervously. "I-I mean…If you're looking for S-superman, w-we won't help you. W-we can't help you."

_Shut up, Clark. Let me handle this._

The lead soldier—a lieutenant from the stripes on his arm—stepped forward.

"What is your name?"

Clark hesitated, his heart thumping almost painfully in his chest. "C-Clark Kent," he answered, nervously. "Now, look, see—we don't know anything."

"Clark Kent," the lieutenant repeated, his eyes narrowing as he took yet another step forward. "The one who was the last to see Superman, about two weeks ago?"

"He doesn't know anything," Lois interrupted. The man better not get himself into trouble with his stumbling words! The soldiers' eyes went to her again.

"But you do, don't you, Miss Lane?"

Lois felt Clark start beside her, his arm jerking against his restraints in surprise at the voice, as if someone had come up behind him and shouted into his ear. But the man who had spoken had not spoken loudly, nor sternly, and just now was just now stepping through the soldiers around like Moses through a navy blue sea. He had a weathered face and small eyes, and from the sharp haircut to the polished boots he looked like an army-doll cut-out, except that comparing the broad-shouldered wall of a man to any kind of a doll would have been laughable, if it were under different conditions.

Lois's heart stilled and the readiness that she had ridden on thus far shattered into dust. All calm control and composure fled from her face and she turned to him, her face as pale as Clark's, now.

She knew this man. She had seen him but once, and heard his voice just then as well, but she would never forget him. She would never forget seeing him, walking with Logram amidst the compound as Lois watched them, clutching an unconscious Superman as she heard them talk emotionlessly of horrors that she knew and remembered with a clarity that haunted her every waking moment.

"You!" Lois nearly snarled, drawing up like a furious tiger.

The general actually looked surprised. "What's that?" he demanded gruffly, coming to a stop in front of her. "I wasn't aware of ever meeting you, Miss Lane."

Lois was shaking—with fury, fear, and preparation to fight or flee, though she had no intentions of doing either, no matter what her mind was screaming at her to do. "I won't call him," she said.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lane. I have no idea what you're talking about."

The man seemed honestly befuddled. It actually caused Lois to pause, though the moment of hesitation was brief.

"You can't fool me," Lois bristled. "You may not be with Bureau 39, but I know that you went to that compound. I heard you speaking with Logram."

"At least we're not playing cat and mouse here, Miss Lane," the general said calmly, though he seemed slightly confused still. "I thought that you might try to deny being there at all."

Lois's eyes narrowed further, but she didn't speak.

McPheron looked away from her and to Clark, frowning.

"Mr. Clark Kent, general," the lieutenant explained to him.

The general just nodded and looked back to Lois. " Miss Lane, we are not with Bureau 39 and we do not mean you, or Superman, any harm. However, we do need to talk with you. Now if you could come with me." Beside her, Clark tensed and pulled forward slightly, his eyes intense on her. He flinched as a hand clapped down on his shoulder to hold him back, and seemed to shrink slightly, though his gaze didn't waver. In reality his captors were as able to hold him back as little diminutive ants, or little pre-school toddlers pulling back at him, if he decided to go after her.

Lois saw the motion and lifted her chin. "I'm not going anywhere without Clark."

"This is confidential, Miss Lane."

"I think I've lost my trust in covert government operations, general."

"I think the issue of secrecy should be more concerning to you right now than your safety," the man replied, his voice intense.

Lois actually paused at that, and her hand went to her chest as she hesitated. After a moment she spoke again.

"Kent is as honest as they come," Lois said without even glancing at Clark. "Just have him give his scout's honor not to tell anyone and your secret's as safe as anything. Besides, I won't cooperate at all if you separate us."

Lois didn't think she would risk letting them get separated, even for information.

The general glanced at Clark, who blinked nervousness. His glasses had slid slightly down his nose as they walked, and he shifted as if wishing his hands were free to push them back up in his typical nervous gesture.

It was a moment before the general spoke again. "Would you trust him with Superman's life, Miss Lane?"

Lois gave a sharp intake of breath as she stared at the hard-looking man. Whatever did he mean?

She then glanced at Clark, who was staring at her and caught her eyes immediately, and she felt protectiveness rise in her.

The poor boy looked more the farm boy than ever, especially with his hair mussed the way it was and the smear of dirt over one chin from his struggle in the alleyway. She frowned at the memory of that. Nervousness from Kent was one thing—it was normal—but what had happened there was more than just nervousness—it had been downright, utter, complete fear, and had brought Kal-El's face to mind faster than a speeding bullet. He had been in a sheer, blind panic.

_Why?_

_Later,_ Lois thought. She threw up another layer of wall around her fortress of iron spikes and steel fortifications. Business. This was business. Clark would just have to hold on.

"Yes," she said firmly, pulling her eyes away from Clark's. Superman would have trusted him, she was sure. She just prayed that she was right, and that Superman's faith wouldn't have been misplaced in Clark Kent yet again.

"Fine." He gestured to the soldiers behind them to release them. "Follow me."

Lois felt the cuffs slip from around her wrists and stepped forward after the general stiffly but with an unhurried step. Clark's cuffs seemed to have jammed for some reason, and it took the soldier a moment longer to pull them open. Freed, Clark stepped quickly to her side and did so much as to touch her shoulder briefly as he came beside her, as if to share some comfort.

_As if, Kent! _Lois thought at that, pulling away with a flash of anger. Him, giving _her_ comfort? The idea was laughable.

She had to focus!

It was a short and quiet trip across the warehouse, and the general opened a door to an office and stepped inside. He gestured Lois and Clark inside in front of him, and Lois led the way guardedly, and even more so once she saw the small office that the doorway led to. She quickly surveyed the small room, then returned her stare to the general as he walked in and closed the door behind him without letting the guards follow. Lois immediately crossed her arms before her, glaring at the general as he moved around the immaculate desk that took up a fair amount of the small room's space.

The closed air of the small office felt was tight and grey. The walls were some flaking pale yellow, and the air was thick with dust and stillness. Lois's nervous energy seemed too much for the small space, and she forced herself to refuse the sudden bout of claustrophobia and attack of memories. Clark took a deep, careful breath, looking beyond the walls of the small room, and letting his hearing carry him outside and beyond.

The sky was quiet in a gentle way that the inside of a building could never fully allow to enter, no matter how large. He heard the clouds passing by, heard the general thrum of Metropolis. Some barn swallows were nesting in the protection of a vent on the roof, their wings fluttering as they flitted free in the open air. The tension in his being eased slightly.

He could get them out, if he needed to. There was no need for anyone to pull out the kryptonite without Superman there.

The general moved to sit down on the other side of the desk, lowering himself down with a sigh. Lois and Clark faced him, the silent moment drawing on.

"This room is secure," the man behind the desk spoke calmly, his words and attention directly on Lois. "We can speak safely."

"About what?" Lois said intensely. "Who are you?"

The general sat back. "General McPheron, Miss Lane, of the Primaries—a branch of the military, and some of the sharpest of the bunch."

Lois's eyes narrowed further. "McPheron," she repeated. "So. All of your supposed help to find me was just that—looking for Superman."

The general reached down to pick up a cigar and cut the end. He waited until he lit it and had taken a long draught before answering. "I'm not going to lie to you, Miss Lane. You're correct, we would not have been involved in the search if not for your connection to Superman."

Lois stepped forward, though Clark stayed strangely still behind her.

"I knew it," Lois said, her voice mixed with fear, anger, and something else…triumph? The light in her eyes burned almost viciously. "I won't help you," she said coldly. "You're going to be caught, General McPheron, or whoever you are—and even if I don't live to see you locked up, justice will be served."

McPheron went still in the middle of exhaling a cloud of smoke. He stared at her as if she had gone mad. "What?"

Lois bristled at that and leaned forward, putting her hands on the desk firmly. "I told you I won't play the fool here, McPheron. I _saw_ you at the complex. I _heard_ you speaking with Logram. He said you wanted Superman for the same reason he did!" Behind her, Clark backed into a small metal trash bin, knocking it over and causing a racket as he hurried to straighten it with a muttered apology. The general glanced at him, but Lois stepped forward to the very edge of the desk, tense as an angry cat and demanding his full attention again.

The general leaned back. "You're going to believe Logram?"

"You didn't deny it," Lois said, her voice low.

McPheron's eyes narrowed. "I found no reason to argue with the madman," he said bluntly. He stood suddenly, but Lois didn't move from her tense position but to straighten to better look the man in the eye. "I didn't mean to upset you. My men had tracked the remnants of Trask's crew to the compound, and if we had known you were still there…" He opened a drawer next to him. Lois tensed further, but the general just pulled out a sheath of paper and dropped it on the desk before her. "These should take care of the damage to your car, Miss Lane. I apologize for that—our men got a little trigger-happy, I'm afraid." His tone implied that whoever it had been had not stayed happy in any way for some time after that.

Lois lifted the folder cautiously, as if the paper were a limp snake prone to attack at any moment. Her eyes flickered to them, then went back to the general.

"What do you want?"

"I told you I am in charge of the Primaries. We are an unofficial-official group, if you will—a branch of the government organized by the president himself."

"The Primaries?"

"Three groups—red, blue, and yellow, spread both nationally and internationally. Before a couple weeks ago we didn't have much to do in the public's eye. We are, quite simply, Superman's government support."

"What?" Lois scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

"When Superman appeared, the reactions were both fear and admiration, but after initial concerns it was determined that the alien was here to help rather than hurt. It's because of us, Miss Lane, that Superman hasn't had to worry about a flood of lawsuits from any minor injuries or property damage that have occurred at time to time due to his rescues. We are a relatively new department, and were preparing to contact him directly before he disappeared."

"Yeah, sure the government supports him," Lois retorted. "They started Bureau 39 in the first place."

"Trask went over the edge years ago," McPheron said, an edge entering into his voice. "And the Primaries have completely dismantled Bureau 39 from the ground up as of yesterday. That threat, at least, is gone. But I doubt it is the last. And you, Miss Lane, are our only connection we have to the big guy right now."

"And Bobby Bigmouth?" Had he been spying ever since Superman had appeared, or had they paid him off more recently?

The general's lip twitched at that. "Ah. We've been keeping an eye on him. While it hardly reached common knowledge, it came to our attention that your snitch has been rescued from a number of shootouts, knife-fights, and even a sinking boat by Superman himself. Not quite as noteworthy as your record, Miss Lane, but still significant. We figured if the man of steel seemed to be taking care of him, perhaps he was one we could trust to pass on a message to you, though he didn't know that he was being fed the information, of course."

Lois didn't reply to that. Superman had saved _Bobby Bigmouth_ on a number of occasions? She hadn't heard about that, and Bobby hadn't mentioned it either. She had had the impression that Bobby had hardly seen the superhero, but for the general Metropolis comings and goings.

McPheron leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. He spoke carefully.

"How is the boy scout?"

Lois took a deep breath, fighting against the automatic tightness in her chest at the question. "I haven't seen him."

McPheron's expression was dubious, but he didn't argue. He reached into the drawer again, drawing out Lois's purse and a single stiletto high-heel and setting both items on the desk.

"I suggest you make sure a man is your enemy before you hit him with that thing. You gave Henries a severe concussion, and I had to give him medical leave for a month."

"I still don't trust you," Lois hedged. She picked up her purse and the high heel, holding it ready—just in case it was needed. The general watched the action warily.

"That's fine," McPheron said, sitting back down. "You'd be a fool to trust so easily, after what we suspect happened. Just listen for a minute, if you would."

He sighed, taking another long draw of his cigar. "We are on the trail of a major crime lord in Metropolis whom we suspect has a grudge against Superman—and for good reason, considering the damage being done to his 'business.' We thought it might be a branch of Intergang, but if anything, the man we're looking for is a rival—and a rival that Intergang fears enough to stay out of his territory. We think it was this guy that was funding Trask and those nutcases, and probably was the brain behind the manner as well."

Lois had heard most of this already, though to tell the truth Intergang had been one of her prime suspects. She frowned as she put a mark against them in her mind, but didn't completely cross them from the list. For all she knew, McPheron could be feeding her false information even now, to throw her off the right trail. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Quite simply," the general said. "First of all, you are Lois Lane—star reporter for the Daily Planet and investigative reporter extraordinaire, and you might as well work for the police force for how many criminals you've helped bring in. We want your help with this guy. Secondly, we want to warn you, because while we are on your side, there's still somebody out there that knows everything that went on in that compound, and if they wanted you once they may try to take you again. Thirdly,"—he leaned forward—"deny it as you may, Miss Lane, you are the only one who has been in contact with Superman for any significant amount of time for the past month. We want him back in Metropolis, and the world. Crime has gone up 30 percent just this month in Metropolis and surrounding areas, and as much as we army-boys hate to admit dependence, he's saved a lot of people all over and done the world a lot of good. We want him back on our side."

Lois didn't answer, but just looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

"We want you to warn him, too," McPheron continued. "This Boss of ours no doubt has a bone to pick with him, and has the means to do so."

_Kryptonite_. The word hung between them, unspoken, yet clear.

"Finally, there's something we found of Superman's that I think he might want," McPheron said, standing.

TBC…


	33. To Be Or Not To Be

Hello, all! Thanks for the reviews!

Special thanks to my consistent reviewers: oneredneckgoddess, blah125, Divamercury (esp. for the double reviews!), Kara-El (I loved your "later rather than sooner" comment in your review. Most people are screaming for me to get on with it. Lol.), and gonnabfamous. Thank you all!

So this is a super-long chapter. Meaning, bordering on 8k, which is about twice as long as a "good-lengthed" chapter for me. So if this pleases you, please review. If it doesn't please you, please review to please me, even if it doesn't please you to do so.

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Enjoy,

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Chapter 33: To Be Or Not To Be?

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_"There's something we found of Superman's that I think he might want." _

Clark didn't need time to wonder what McPheron was talking about. He knew exactly what the general had. He had been searching for it for months, ever since he had first seen it in Bureau 39's warehouse.

McPheron led them to the roof, without guards this time, though that didn't necessarily make Clark feel any better despite the show of trust.

Or confidence. The man could just as easily be showing his supposed power over them, or his assumption that he has taken down the reporters' guard.

This could all be an elaborate trap. It could just be a set up to bring Superman down from the skies, expecting to meet friends only to be turned on and caught again.

Clark wasn't innocent anymore. His naivety that Lois seemed to scorn in him had taken on a darker shade. He was scarred.

He needed to be ready for anything. He couldn't allow himself to get overconfident again.

The canvas-covered mound just a few steps from the door to the roof was not inconspicuous. Lois watched it through narrowed eyes as the general stood and pulled the canvas from the vessel. It didn't matter one way or another for Clark—he had been staring right through the tarp since he had walked outside into the cloud-filtered sunlight.

There sat his spaceship—small, harmless, and untouched, if a bit dusty.

His _spaceship_. It was one thing to have his globe, but this was different. This was big. This had been his home for who knows how many days, weeks, months, or years that it had carried him from Krypton.

He wanted to reach forward and touch it—to run his hands over it and feel the warmth that he had felt so briefly in his first encounter with it. To touch something that he had seen his parents touch, in the globe's recording.

"This landed in Kansas some years ago," McPheron said, looking at the small craft with a thoughtful gaze. "Bureau 39 has had their hands on it, but now that they're gone, I think Superman might want to have it back."

Lois looked at it for a long moment, then turned to glare at McPheron. "So you want me to tell him to come in and get this from you? And how am I to know that there's not kryptonite hidden nearby? I mean, you could have ground it into a dust, and we might not be able to see it. But why should I risk him coming here?"

It was a good point, Clark thought, and had to stop himself from taking an automatic step back at the thought. The notion that the kryptonite could be hidden so easily hadn't entered into his mind, and now it gave him a chill. But he didn't feel anything, so he braced himself and took a cautious step towards the ship. Lois shot him a perturbed look at his action.

"Besides," Lois continued. "This isn't even his _ship_. It's a probe that was sent to see if Superman could live here."

Clark had to cover a wince at that.

McPheron looked at her closely. "He told you that, Miss Lane?"

Lois faltered at the stare, then quickly bristled again. "Yes," she said boldly.

Clark was watching the general closely, now grateful that his presence was all but ignored. What did the man know? What did he suspect?

"We're leaving it here," McPheron said, pulling the tarp back over it. "There is no kryptonite, Miss Lane—no plans for traps. I'm sure you know well enough that if our intentions were to draw him here, you would be bait enough." He pulled out a card and held it out to her. "If you could give this to Superman as well. It's a number, if he ever needs anything. Including medical."

Lois and Clark both looked at him sharply. Clark felt ash in his mouth.

"M-medical?" Lois repeated.

"We didn't find a good deal of what was at that compound, Lane, but what we found…" The general shook his head, looking grim. "I think we both know he isn't invulnerable as we liked to think." He hesitated, the hard exterior slipping the slightest bit. "Can you…just tell me if he is getting better?"

Lois chewed on her lip, staring at him through narrowed eyes. At last she shook her head. "I don't know, general," she said, her voice still cold.

McPheron sighed. "Think about it, Miss Lane. I understand you both being hesitant to trust again, but I hope you will let us try to fix what has been done."

_No chance of that_, Lois thought. Some things just couldn't be fixed, and many things that could be were shattered to a point that anything any outsider might try to do would only make it worse.

Clark took another slow step forward, and another, until he reached down and brushed his fingers across the dusty red S.

Did it hold his second guide, somehow? Did it carry another message for him? Did it carry the answers to his questions?

There was no answer—not even a faintest tingle at his fingertips. But what had he expected? The ship hadn't come alive last time he had touched it, and he certainly didn't want it to happen now, in front of Lois and this man of questionable trustworthiness. That thought made him bring back his hand quickly, and he looked up to find both Lois and McPheron watching him.

"It's…uh…warm," Clark tried to explain his actions.

"Really?" Lois stepped forward quickly and reached down to touch it for herself. Her fingers traced the S almost reverently, and Clark looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on something that was not his right to see.

Lois brushed away the dust, then stood slowly, as if hesitant to distance herself from any connection to Superman at all. She looked back to McPheron.

"With Bureau 39 gone, I want the full story. Every detail, McPheron. If you want me to trust you, you had better start with the basics."

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A little over an hour later McPheron let them out of his office, where he had taken them again to talk. They had given them their things back—even the taser, though McPheron had handed that back with a noticeably wary look in his eyes. As they had sat down and taken their things, Clark had noticed something was missing.

"Now," Lois said, taking out a notebook and pen from one of the purses she held and perching over it. "Talk."

Clark swallowed the question and settled to listen, for now, but the thought that it might have been lost made the empty and raw hole in his heart ache.

McPheron had talked. He had gone over things they already knew—of the basic history of Bureau 39 and its official disbandment, and of Trask's madness. After Trask's death it had been supposed that the Bureau would die along with him, but that was when the Boss seemed to have stepped in, or at least more visibly. McPheron wasn't sure how long Bureau 39 had been controlled by this crime lord.

"Trask was a leader, but he's been half-mad for years. Logram wasn't a leader at all—only a doctor to do the dirty work. He lacked the sense of organization and structure, let alone the brains or true intent necessary to lead something like this."

The Primaries had found both the compound and another warehouse in Gotham where Bureau 39 must have tried to sweep all of the spaceships after their first disappearance from Metropolis. A week ago they had officially locked away or destroyed the last of the evidence, and as many men as had been involved in any criminal way had been put away.

It really was a closed deal, except for the missing Boss…and Superman.

Now that Bureau 39 was gone, the Primaries' only goal was to find Superman and the Boss. They had agents spread throughout all of the underground and upper levels of society, even all around the world, so much as their resources permitted—searching for even the slightest rumor of a miracle that might point to the missing hero.

Of course, there had been no luck so far.

With pages full of notes and a card for herself to contact McPheron if need be, Lois stood and let the general open the door to let them out. Clark, however, hesitated.

"Do you…there wasn't a knife with my things, were there? A pocketknife?"

McPheron frowned and sorted around the few papers on his desk.

"I don't see it here. Are you sure you had it with you?"

"Yes," Clark adjusted his glasses. He didn't want to lose this…but even with the willingness for McPheron to talk and his supposed trustworthiness, Clark wanted nothing more than to just get out of there, after all of this time of being kept in this small room. He had stayed mostly silent except for a couple questions throughout the questioning—keeping notes mentally in and staying alert in case of any possible danger.

The lead paint that blocked his vision of the outside had long since grown nearly intolerable, even with his superhearing to loosen the groundings that held him.

And Lois…he had noticed something as they had been sitting there listening to McPheron. She was _buzzing_ faintly, right over her heart. He hadn't x-rayed to check, of course, but he realized that she had some sort of recording device under her shirt.

_Was this part of her brilliant backup plan?_

If nothing else, she had one heck of a brilliant interview, Clark thought, along with the makings of yet another page one article with it.

"Goodness, Clark, I'll just buy you a new one," Lois interrupted his thoughts. "Why are you carrying a pocketknife around anyway? This is Metropolis, not the Wild West."

Clark ducked his head. "My dad gave it to me, Lois."

Lois cringed at that. "Oh." She looked down for a moment, then looked up again. "And you're sure you had it?" she asked, but her voice was softer.

"Yes," Clark said, feeling like a young grade-schooler being questioned by two teachers.

Lois straightened and stared at McPheron. "Well, then. It's had better be around here someplace, right? Where are the guys who took this stuff in the first place?"

"Gone," McPheron said. "It draws too much attention to keep many people around here. We've been keeping just one or two, to keep watch on the ship, and brought more down just when we hoped you were coming."

"Well, find out who they are," Lois snapped. "I'm going to be calling you, McPheron, and if you want me to even consider trying to get Superman to trust you, then you had better be able to convince me your elite men are more than petty thieves!"

McPheron frowned at that, but then nodded. He looked at Clark doubtfully. "A pocketknife? Any better description?" It was clear from his voice that he certainly thought the effort put into any search of this was a waste, but Lois's level stare at him kept out most of the depreciating tones.

Clark shrugged. "It…it has a wooden carved handle, but…it's worn down a bit."

McPheron grunted softly.

Clark decided that even if these guys were on his side, he didn't like them very much.

"I'll be following up on that, McPheron," Lois said coldly, putting a hand on Clark's shoulder that was warm in sharp contrast to her tone. She applied pressure, gently steering him to the door. "That is one thing that you can be sure about, at least, so don't go dropping off the face of the map again."

McPheron's expression went completely neutral and he stood. "As long as you remain a friend of Superman's, Miss Lane, you are a friend of ours." His eyes flickered briefly to Clark, but his neutral mask hardly slipped, but for the slightest shadow of disapproval in his eyes

Clark caught his eye for a short moment before looking away quickly.

"When can I expect to hear from you?" McPheron asked.

Lois glared at him. "When I feel like it," she said, then turned away. "Come on, Clark, let's go."

McPheron didn't try to stop them. Clark led the way out, his back watched carefully by a wary Lois Lane, who once again had her hand in her purse—likely on her taser.

They went out the front door, and as soon as Clark stepped into the thin sunlight of the cloudy afternoon, he stopped, feeling lightheaded from relief.

He didn't pause in his steps, however, even as Lois's hand left his back and she turned, her steps faltering as she stopped and looked back and up. Clark knew what she was looking towards—his ship, even if she couldn't see it. He himself wanted to run back, jump up there, and make off with it. He didn't want it to be snatched out of his grip again. If it did have information about him, he didn't want it in the hands of possible enemies. Instead, he turned and put a hand on the small of Lois's back to keep her moving.

"Clark—"

"It's not safe, Lois," Clark said firmly. "Come on. Let's find a phone and call a cab."

"But I want to stay and see—"

"There was a camera above the front door, Lois," Clark said. "Didn't you see it? He's probably still watching us. Come on."

"A camera?" Lois repeated. She made to look back again, but Clark kept her steered forward. Of course she wouldn't be able to see it unless she looked _very_ closely. It was quite small, and expertly hidden. Even he had almost missed it. " Clark…"

"They let us go, Lois," Clark said, his voice still firm but soft now. "I—I am not going to give them a chance to change their minds."

Lois was surprised both by his tone and his words. Clark was always the one that defended the general goodness of mankind. She was supposed to be the one warning him, and he was supposed to be the one trying to convince her to give these men a chance.

There was a phone booth just a couple blocks away. They walked in silence at first, until Clark spoke at last, glancing at her almost hesitantly.

"So…what was your plan?"

Lois looked at him sharply, then took a sharp breath and brushed her hair from her face in an agitated motion. "Plan?"

"You said for me to . . . to trust you. You sounded like . . . like you had a plan, or something."

Lois bit her lip. "Well, I did . . . sort of."

Clark waited.

He still looked a bit shaken. His hair was slightly puffed upwards from him running his hand through it in that nervous gesture of his, and his face still hadn't regained all of its color.

But they hadn't been caught. They were walking away, unharmed.

Lois was free again. Back on the streets and her normal, mad-dog self. Nothing would ever scare her again.

Clark just watched her, not sure if he wanted to think too close upon how weak her "brilliant" plan might have been, according to his predictions.

Lois glared at him, pulling away from his hand which still rested lightly on her back. "I did!" She glanced backwards again, then stepped forward at a quicker pace. "Not now, Clark. I'll tell you…once we get back to the Planet."

They reached the phone and called up a taxi, then stood back to wait. The sun was beginning to shine more fully from behind the clouds, and Clark stood there in the fullness of it, his shadow casting a dark shadow against its light. Lois squinted against it, then went to sit down in Clark's shadow on the curb. It wasn't fully summer yet, but spring was giving way to warmer weather, and she just felt like sitting down for a few minutes—and preferably out of the sun or near any more alleys, for today at least.

So she did, lowering both of her purses and the odd high heel to the side of her. She pulled out a tattered notebook that was stuffed with post-its and notes, and paged through it grimly. A few minutes passed in silence, but then Lois's personalized sunshade moved. She looked up, annoyed, as Clark came to sit beside her. He shifted slightly, a bit uncomfortable with his longer legs as he sat on the curb beside her.

"So Bureau 39 is gone," Clark said. "That's a page one story for sure, especially with all the rumors with Superman's . . . disappearance."

Lois snapped the notebook closed and faced him, armed and ready for battle. "Don't even ask, Kent. I let you stay with me for your safety. But there are some things I just can't tell you."

"About Superman?" Clark asked, his voice soft as he scrapped one foot along the gravelly road.

Lois glared at him. "I'm not going to talk, Clark. If Superman wants to tell you, then he can. You _were _the last one to see him, after all."

Clark winced, and reached up to adjust his glasses with a shaking hand. "Uh…Lois?" his voice was still soft. "I…I…There's something…" He took a deep breath. "Lois, about Bureau 39…I…"

A faint buzzing filled Clark's ears, and he froze. Lois. She had that bug or whatever on her. He might be strong enough to try and tell Lois at last, but to think of it recorded…

…just like everything that had happened in that compound…

"What is it, Clark?"

Clark blinked at her, stuttering for an answer. "Uh…"

A taxi pulled up in front of them, and Clark's mouth snapped shut. Lois frowned at him, taking in his further paled face, but he shook his head quickly and mouthed a shaky _later_. After that, he avoided her eyes as they stood and made their ways forward. Clark opened the door for her and she climbed in, and he followed after a short but noticeable hesitation.

"The Daily Planet," Lois told the driver.

They were silent as they drove. Clark was busy pressed up against the window, his eyes closed as the sunlight brushed his face, and Lois watched him absently.

Clark had been so scared when the guards had caught them in the alley. He had been _terrified._ And he had been about to tell her something about Bureau 39 that seemed to frighten him almost just as badly.

Was it possible that he was hiding something too? But the man hadn't seemed hurt when he had gotten out of their hands—just so terribly nervous that Lois had felt tempted to strangle him, if it weren't for his father's condition and following death.

You can't let people push you around. You bend when you have to, but then snap right back up to hit them in the behind as soon as you can. Clark, though, seemed to have snapped right in half.

He had grabbed her like a terrified kid to a safety blanket. Whatever in the world had he been _thinking?_

Had he been thinking at all?

Lois's gaze had turned into a fiery glare, and she yanked her eyes away from him and began sorting through the purse that had been taken from her by Bureau 39, only a few weeks ago, but a lifetime nonetheless.

She didn't remember exactly what her purse had contained. It was still packed with an assortment of papers, receipts, and pens, and she was surprised to find a spare house key on the bottom that she had been searching for for some months even before she was captured, along with some dried and crumbled sticks of gum, and some brown gunk that looked like it might have once been a part of a double-crunch chocolate bar.

Lois grimaced. So maybe she wasn't the neatest person, but still...even she realized that this purse was long overdue for a cleaning check.

She pulled out her wallet intent on carefully checking to make sure every card was still there—from her driver's license to her library card—but as soon as the wallet fell open she went still.

There, in the first little photo protector of the wallet, was Superman.

It was an early picture—one of his very first public pictures, if Lois remembered correctly. His expression was the well-known and familiar one that had come to define the superhero to the world. His eyes were light, his lips together in a way that could only be described as "determined," though the smallest smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. His arms were crossed beneath his S-shield, and behind him waved an American flag.

The flag hadn't been there originally, of course, but someone had Photoshopped it in, and Lois had agreed with most of the population that it fit perfectly. Now, though, a sad smile floated over her lips as she ran a finger over his face.

It was very likely that he disapproved of the artistic license. And even besides the changed background, the actual picture of the man himself seemed so much more real now.

The light in his eyes was almost laughter, though it was carefully masked beneath what might be mistaken for grimness. He must have had a good day of rescues, or something. It wasn't something she had seen much during their time with Bureau 39 or afterwards, but she could recognize it. Or maybe he was just amused at the cameras focused on him. That shadow of a smile did seem a bit self-conscious—even embarrassed.

She missed him so much.

Her musings were cut off as the taxi pulled up to the Planet. She didn't really pay attention as Clark paid the fee, but absently got out of the cab and slipped her wallet safely back into her purse.

------------------

Lois was strangely silent as they walked into the Daily Planet building. Even though there were many people about, she didn't even keep up her usual mutter under her breath. She seemed distracted, and leaned against the wall of the elevator as they rose up to the press floor.

They stepped off the elevator and Lois started towards her desk, and Clark followed.

"Uh…Lois?"

"Yes, Clark?"

She wasn't listening. Not really. Her mind was so far away that it was a miracle she didn't walk into a desk without noticing. She set her purses and the stiletto heel on her desk with unusual care.

"Can I…talk to you?"

Lois frowned slightly and blinked up towards him, clearly coming back to herself. She sat down on the edge of her seat and shook her head as if to clear it. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Can you get me a coffee first, though?"

Clark nodded. There were stress lines around her eyes, and as he turned away he glanced back to see her rubbing her forehead as if in pain.

A minute later he was back with a cup for himself and his partner. Lois was now completely slumped in her chair, her feet pushed out before her and her head hanging forward with her hair framing her pale face. Her eyes were closed tightly.

Clark set her coffee on the desk before her carefully. "Lois?"

She started and sat up quickly, clearing her throat as she saw him. "Oh. Clark. T-thanks."

She picked up her cup, then paused at the container of pills beside it. "What's this?" she asked suspiciously.

Clark shrugged, not looking at her directly in fear of her reaction. "Painkillers." At Lois's blank look, he expounded. "For your headache?"

Lois's brow furrowed, and Clark waited for the impending storm to crash down on him. He was surprised when Lois didn't say anything, but just opened the bottle, shook two pills into her palm, and downed them with a sip of too-hot coffee.

Her hands had been shaking the whole time.

Clark's heart ached, and he looked away. Lois was so strong. So strong, even now, but it was his fault that she was scarred. His fault she was scared.

"Thanks, Clark," she muttered, sitting back in her chair again—but not quite slumping this time. She rubbed her forehead again before reaching into the neck of her shirt to pull out a small electronic device that Clark had been hearing. She looked at it closely for a moment, then took a pen and carefully used it to slide a tiny switch over, before setting it gently yet firmly on the desk. It was silent now, even to Clark's ears.

How Clark hated to play along, especially now. He hated himself for it. But after all that had happened, it all felt so cowardly—so selfish. But he was still broken. How could he force a broken man—a broken _alien_—upon Lois when he knew that she wouldn't be able to keep from protecting him?

Once she knew, would she even _want _to know? She might feel obligated to take care of him, and he didn't want to burden Lois with that.

He didn't want to burden Lois with Clark Kent, who at times she barely seemed to be able to _tolerate._

He was so weak. He had already shown her how helpless he was to truly protect her. How could she trust him, after all that, and all those lies?

But she deserved to know. After what had happened, she deserved to be able to make that choice, at least.

If she wanted him to, he'd leave and never bother her again.

He'd be alone. More alone than ever, but he would let her make that choice.

He prayed that that would never happen. That he'd never have to leave her. Ever.

He let out a slow breath.

He couldn't tell her right now. So he played along, though his heart wasn't in it.

"You were bugged." It was not a question.

Lois looked somewhat surprised at the somewhat blank tone and expression from her partner.

"Yes, I was," she said with a frowning glance at him. "I got it from an old…associate of my father's. Now usually I don't want anything to do with my father, but this man…" Lois actually smiled a bit. "I think you'd like him, Clark. My father hates him. Dr. Emil Hamilton is his name. He's a scientist…"

"At Metro Physics," Clark finished, nodding. He didn't need to fake his growing interest. He had met Dr. Hamilton a couple of times as Superman, when the superhero had needed some tests done on various chemicals or technology that he came across now and again in his work. He didn't know the man well, but he had been recommended by Bobby Bigmouth after having salvaged a bullet from an attempted assassination, and the sniper had refused to speak, so they had traced the highly-specialized bullet to the source. Dr. Hamilton was a brilliant scientist, and an honest one at that. Clark appreciated that, even if he had seemed to be a bit absent-minded. But once his attention was caught, his enthusiasm was nearly overwhelming. The man was certainly passionate about his work.

"Right," Lois said, turning to her computer and logging on. "The whole thing is right here on my computer."

Clark frowned slightly. "So…how was that supposed to help us if we were…you know?"

Lois glared at him. "Really, Smallville," she said. "This was set to be emailed to Perry at ten o'clock tonight, so if we went missing he would then be given a very thorough account of what exactly was happening, and hopefully where to find us."

Clark didn't look very comforted. He sat back. "I'm…glad I just decided to trust you rather than asking for the details," he said with a weak grin. Lois just stared at him flatly, and his grin faltered. "Well, you know, Lois…they could just have shot us, and then all Perry would have was a…you know…sound recording of…well, you know."

"And proof," Lois said, her eyes flashing as she grabbed the recorder and slipped it into her desk drawer. "Proof, Clark. If they had tried to shoot us I'm sure we could have pulled out a confession before they did the deed. Villains are just like that."

Clark took a shaky breath and spoke carefully. "Lois, no story is worth you dying over."

Lois's eyes narrowed further and she turned away sharply to open a sound player and a word document. "That's where you're wrong, Kent," Lois said coldly. "Some things are bigger than you, bigger than me. They're worth any sacrifice that we can give."

_Superman_.

What he felt was not jealousy for his counterpart. No, this was something much, much different. It made him want to cry—but of course, that wouldn't improve his already shaken image in Lois Lane's eyes, either of Superman or of Clark Kent. So he blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath and adjusting his glasses to hide his reaction.

"Even he isn't worth dying for, Lois," Clark said, his voice barely a whisper. "He wouldn't want that."

Lois had been typing furiously, but at that soft statement she turned on him like a raging inferno.

"Don't even start, Kent. You are just as bad as anyone out there. How in the world would you know what he wanted and not? Even to you he's just an icon—some sort of invulnerable angel or something that can't be hurt, that can't feel. He's a person too, Clark, but even more than that."

"I…I know Lois—"

"No you don't. Just shut up, Clark."

Clark sat back, stung, as Lois put her whole mind towards the article type-up, checking her notebook now and again for quotes and details. She had actually seemed to have warmed up to him for a minute there—even accepting the painkillers that Clark had brought her, though he had expected an explosion then. The painkillers must be working, then, since Lois was going back to the hard-hitting reporter that she loved to pretend to be.

It wasn't her fault, Clark told himself guiltily. He knew Lois. She was dealing with her problems as well as she knew how. She had done the same thing to Superman, at the compound. She'd even told _him_ to shut up once or twice, if he remembered correctly.

"What are you smiling about, Kent?"

Clark was surprised that he was, indeed, smiling. And not only was he smiling, but he was smiling at memories from the time with _Bureau 39_. At that thought, a thousand horrific memories poured in through the floodgates and he almost choked at the sudden onslaught.

"N-nothing," he said, all trace of pleasant memories washed clean from his face. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose. Lois frowned and got back to typing. Clark waited a moment, fidgeting slightly with a string in one of his suit pockets, then spoke.

"Lois?"

"What, Clark?"

Clark swallowed. "You…uh…you misspelled conspiracy."

Lois started and frowned at the screen. Even with word check, she had missed the red underlined word in her haste to write as quick as she could. She fixed the mistake, then went back to where she had been and kept writing.

Clark tugged on the string in his pocket, twisting it around one of his fingers. He stretched it between two of his fingers and easily cut it in two.

"L-Lois?"

"What?"

Once again, she didn't look at him.

One of the sentences Lois had written was rough at best, and ambiguous and just plain sloppy at worst. Lois fixed it when Clark pointed it out, then moved a paragraph and added another paragraph earlier on at Clark's recommendation with a nod of recognition and even a murmured, "Good idea, Clark" that made Clark grin slightly before it slipped from his face again. They fell silent once more.

The thread in Clark's pocket was now just a tangle of frayed knots and ends, and was damp from his fingertips.

He cleared his throat.

"Found something else?" Lois asked, and looked at him.

"A-actually, Lois," Clark said, pushing his glasses up with his index finger. "C-can I talk to you? In the conference room?"

Lois frowned at him, then turned to save the article before standing and waving at him to do the same. He stood, wondering if he looked as shaky as he felt, and at Lois's gesture lead the way forward.

The conference room was empty, for which Clark was very glad. He closed the door behind Lois and carefully checked all of the blinds, ignoring Lois's gaze that was growing more curious and even suspicious by the moment.

As he finished, he turned to her, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, now that this place is about as secure as an underground bunker, what were you going to tell me?"

Clark hands were shaking, so he stuck them in his pockets. This was it. Heaven help him not look as terrified as he felt.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again when he found his voice had failed him. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering and balled his hands into fists in his pocket as he sat down in one of the conference chairs and forced himself to take a breath that he hoped would be calming.

It didn't work.

Lois came forward, her expression concerned, but also wary in an almost dangerous way.

It was a strange combination to see.

"What is it, Clark?"

"Lois," Clark said, forcing his voice to be firm. He pulled his eyes upwards towards hers, and as he found her face he realized he had never been so terrified in his whole life.

Ever. And that was certainly saying something.

Bureau 39 could have killed him, but Lois could do something far worse. She could break his heart. She could crush him.

She held all power over him—to completely destroy what tatters had been left over since Bureau 39. Once she knew, she would hold his soul in her hand.

"Clark, did something else happen with Bureau 39?" Lois asked. "Something you didn't tell anyone else?"

Clark blinked. "Yes, Lois, but…"

"I thought so," Lois said, looking at him closely. "You're panic attack with the Primaries earlier just wasn't quite the right reaction, even for you, Smallville."

"Lois…"

"Did they hurt you?"

Clark's throat plugged at that, and he found for a moment that he couldn't speak.

Lois came forward, looking him over as if using x-ray vision herself to assess any injuries. She looked slightly confused. "But…you _weren't_ hurt, were you? I mean, you didn't look the greatest, but you weren't _hurt._ I didn't hear that you went to the hospital, or anything."

Clark swallowed, struggling around that lump in his throat. He had to tell her, now. "I'm fine, Lois, it's just—"

"Scared?" Lois's expression was unreadable at that, though whether that was because she was trying to hide mockery, embarrassment, or empathy, Clark wasn't sure.

He looked away. He couldn't deny it.

"I . . . " Lois's gaze was steady on him. Clark's voice came out as a whisper. "Yes, Lois," he admitted softly, not looking at her. "I . . . I'm terrified."

"Oh," Lois said. Her previous tension seemed to evaporate, and she didn't looking like she knew exactly what to say to that.

Clark couldn't meet her eyes. "Lois..."

"Lane! Line one!"

Lois sighed and rolled her eyes. "One second, Clark," she said apologetically, reaching for the phone.

Clark sat back, placing his hands on his knees to try and stop their shaking. Was fate just trying to make this harder? It was bad enough as it was.

_Lois, I'm Superman_.

It was easy. How could it be so hard?

_Lois, it's me. I'm Superman._

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet."

Clark wasn't tempted to eavesdrop to hear the other person on the line, but Lois's next words drew his full attention over to her side of the conversation, at least.

"Oh, Lex." Lois grimaced, glancing at her wristwatch with a frown. It was almost five forty-five. "I'm sorry. Today has been so busy. No, no. I didn't forget, I just got caught up. Pick me up? 6:30? Okay? Okay. Yes. Okay. Thanks, Lex. Yes, I'll see you then. Bye."

She hung up and turned to Clark. "Sorry, Clark. I completely forgot about this. Could you, you know, finish up the article? We'll go over it together tomorrow morning." She went to the conference door and opened it.

Clark's heart sunk. He followed at her heels. "W-what was that about?"

Lois sighed. "I have a date with Lex," she said. She walked up to her desk and grabbed her purse.

Clark felt cold rush from his neck down to his toes. He pushed his glasses up with a shaking hand.

"Lois…I…can't you cancel, or something?"

Lois looked at him, suddenly looking annoyed at him once again. "Why?"

"Well, uh…you know, Lois, I just…you know, I…"

Lois rolled her eyes. "Actually, I do know, Kent. You're afraid he's going to kidnap me and hand me over to Bureau 39, or something."

Clark paled slightly, but covered it by pushing up his glasses again and giving a nervous chuckle. "Well, Lois—"

"Drop the act, Clark," Lois said impatiently with a wave of her hand as she turned to her desk and began pushing around the mass of scattered papers there, apparently looking for something. "You left some of your notes on Luthor the Crime Lord with your notes on Bureau 39. It's just that—" She interrupted herself with a sharp curse.

"What is it?" Clark asked, immediately tensing.

"I must have left it at my apartment."

"Oh." Clark relaxed. "Well, that's all right, Lois—"

"Yes, I suppose you have it photocopied," Lois replied dryly. She grabbed a few papers seemingly at random from the mess, then looked at him one last time, and her voice was surprisingly sympathetic. "Listen, Clark," she said, her voice soft. "I know how it is…you know—to be…scared. I…well, I went through the same kind of thing you did, didn't I?" She gave a noble attempt at a smile. "We'll go to lunch tomorrow and talk about it. No interruptions, all right?"

Clark nodded, though his answering smile was a bit shaky and weak. He felt as if his heart was melting into a pool of black tar. He was relieved, and hated himself for that. He wanted to grab her and tell her now, but he was too afraid—especially if she was going to see Luthor tonight. She might be so shaken by the news that she couldn't help but let something slip.

So he was justified on putting it off yet again. He was further relieved at that, and so his shame grew. Not only was he not human, he was pitiful; he was broken; he was a coward. "O-okay, Lois," he said, not looking her in the eye.

Lois actually paused and put a hand on his arm. "Really, Clark, it'll be okay." She squeezed his arm gently and turned to go.

Clark looked after her, speechless.

Being around Lois Lane was like being around a bipolar wet cat. You never knew if she was going to purr or attack, and she could change from cold and furious to warm and gentle with just a few seconds in between.

Clark shook himself, then sat back down at the computer and stared at the screen. After a moment, he put aside Lois's notebook and started writing, recalling quotes and details from memory.

It was enough.

It didn't take long for Clark to finish most of it up, and he saved it and logged out. Perry was expecting another follow up on Bureau 39 for Sunday morning's edition, so they had time to finish it up tomorrow.

Clark stood, feeling a bit sore after the long day out of the sunlight. His arm was aching from the typing, and his leg was tight as he stretched.

He wasn't better. Not yet.

He glanced out the window, where the sun was beginning to set behind thick clouds, and felt his heart sink. He wasn't looking forward to the long, dark night ahead of him

He had been hoping maybe to work late, and then maybe eat a casual dinner with Lois, maybe even take-out in the office, like they had with their first story as partners. And maybe he could have shared a taxi with her on the way home, and made sure she made it home all right.

Instead, she was spending the night in the hands of a madman.

Clark stomach twisted uneasily. Luthor wouldn't try anything. He could have called Lois out weeks ago, and sick as it made Clark feel, Luthor was attracted to Lois Lane enough that he didn't want to destroy his image…yet.

But if Luthor _was_ behind Bureau 39 he would know everything. He would have seen everything. He would know their fear, their pain—would have seen their vulnerabilities and probably gloated over them.

He could just see Luthor sitting in his darkened lair, his dark eyes glimmering as he listened to his archenemy's screams…

Clark shook his head, feeling sick, and his train of thought was not helping any. For the sake of something to do, he gathered the insane mass of papers from Lois's desk and took his time going through it, carefully ordering it.

He did it in only a little faster than normal speed. He wasn't looking forward to going home to an empty, darkened apartment.

Clark was halfway through the stack and carefully keeping his mind away from what could be happening to Lois at that moment when Jimmy walked up with a box of donuts and plopped down next to him.

"Wanna donut, CK?" he asked. The bruise from Lois's unintentional attack the week before was still colorful, but was beginning to fade, and the young man looked cheerful.

Clark started and looked at him. "Uh…Sure, Jimmy. Thanks."

He sat down and took the offered donut.

"Where'd Lois go?" Jimmy asked around a mouthful.

"A date," Clark said, taking a bite and trying for a lighter air. The donut tasted good—very good. Too good for how he was feeling right now, that was sure. He hadn't realized it, but besides a cup of coffee this morning and the second one he had shared with Lois, he hadn't eaten anything all day. His mother would probably drag him right home again if she found out.

"Ah, sorry," Jimmy said. "I heard about that. Mr. Luthor sent her flowers earlier this week, you know that?

Clark grimaced. "No, I didn't."

Jimmy swallowed a large piece of donut with difficulty. "It doesn't matter, though. I don't think Lois really wanted to go anyway. She threw the flowers away."

Clark was interested at that. "Really?"

Jimmy shrugged again. "What about you, CK? How are you holding up?"

Clark shrugged back. "Okay, I guess, Jimmy."

Jimmy looked sympathetic. "Well, you know, I was thinking of going to a new movie that's coming out tomorrow night. You have plans?"

Clark gave a small embarrassed grin. "I'd have to ask Lois, Jimmy."

"Invite her along," Jimmy said, pulling another donut out of the box and setting it on a napkin that he pushed towards Clark before he stood. "She could use a break too, you know."

Clark finished cleaning up Lois's desk and set the carefully ordered papers in the center of her desk, where they were least likely to be knocked over by a careless passerby or even Lois herself. His work done, he looked around the emptying newsroom.

Having nothing else to do, he headed for the elevator. He stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. The elevator was empty except for him, and as he reached for the button to take him to the ground floor, he hesitated. Instead, he moved his hand and pressed the button to the roof.

He stepped out of the elevator and took the short flight of stairs to the open air of the rooftop of The Daily Planet. The night air was surprising cool for the warmer day, and there was a bite of rain on the cold breeze.

Clark walked towards the edge, feeling the humid hair close on his skin as he gazed upon the oh-so-familiar night skyline of Metropolis. He shivered in his coat and stepped to the edge, taking hold of the railing as the wind buffeted his hair around his face.

He looked straight down, counting the floors of the Planet and seeing the individual people down there as if he were right among them. He looked down, and urged himself to fly. To take off—to go and _do _something.

To be helpless no longer. To be able to leap up into the sky and be free. To be able to regain the freedom that Bureau 39 had stripped from him weeks ago and left fear in its place…

Nothing.

He wondered briefly what would happen if he just threw himself over the edge, but uncertainty stopped him. He didn't know how invulnerable he was yet—and worse, if he were to fall he could hurt someone walking below.

He shut his eyes, feeling so very close to the edge…and if he stepped off he wouldn't be going anywhere but down.

His eyes in darkness, he heard them. He had been hearing them for most of the day—screaming, calling, pleading for him. He had tried to block them out, especially in the presence of his own fear and helpless situation, but now he let them wash over him, clamoring in his ears, grasping at his arms, tearing at his heart.

Somewhere not far, there was a terrible collision of two cars. He opened his eyes almost unwillingly, watching as the accident unfolded. A mother staggered from the front of one of the cars, blood dripping down her brow like scarlet tears as she pulled open the side door to get to her two young children in the back seat.

He could hear her screams, her sobs. He didn't want to see, but he could, and did. He could fear her pain, her desperation as the paramedics pulled her away from one of the struggling children.

Clark listened and watched, there with them. He could almost smell the gasoline, the blood—he could taste the fear. He watched desperately, as if by just watching he might be able to help—even the slightest bit.

He heard the smallest child take his last breath. He heard the small heart beat its last beat. He saw the broken body go limp.

He tore himself away, shutting his eyes and pulling his hearing away—searching, searching for relief. It was breaking him, tearing at him, shredding him into nothing.

All humanity screamed for him.

He covered his ears, desperate for relief. He couldn't do anything. He was helpless, helpless as he had been with his father. It ripped at him as bad as any kryptonite.

Worse.

_Help!_

_Oh, please help! _

_Superman! Please! Anybody! _

It was driving him mad.

Heedless of the single, horrified tear that ran from one of his dark eyes and spilled beneath the mask of his glasses, Clark blocked them all out—shutting his eyes, blocking his ears.

Silence. Darkness. Peace.

No—never that. Never peace, so long as he was helpless.

His heart colder than the bitter wind that brushed against his unfeeling skin, he took off his glasses and wiped that single tear--that single drop of despair, of cowardice, of failure--away. It seemed to freeze on his fingers as he put the thick frames back on.

_Helpless_.

There was no greater curse than being able to hear everything, to see everything, and to know personally that terror and loss…and not to be able to do anything about it.

He hunched his shoulders and started taking the stairs back down, preparing himself for yet another sleepless night.

TBC…


	34. Greatest Criminal Mastermind of All Time

Oneredneckgoddess...Hm. Wait a second. First you compare me to an old man leading a donkey with a carrot, and then you say you hate the old man. That means...you hate me:'( ...

/broad grin/ Well, as long as you keep coming back for the carrot! ;) /thumbs up/

Divamercury, this chapters a bit longer again, so I hope you enjoy it!

KC-Piper-fan: I kind of made a promise to myself that I wouldn't say anything about the revelation...if it ever happens /evil grin/. Oh, I just broke my promise. Darn it! ;)

Same to you, nikki! Thanks for your review!

Thanks for your reviews, blah125, sUnKiSsT...and WildIrishRos...

This chapter is dedicated to Pepper over on who has been a great support and friend on the 'net since this story started out. Thank you, Pepper! Good luck with everything going on right now in your life!

I hope you enjoy, everyone! Please remember to review!

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Chapter 34: Greatest Criminal Mastermind of All Time

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Clark decided to walk home. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to fly, but even if that wasn't possible, the thought of being stuck in a tiny, smelly cab was not tempting in the slightest, especially in his current mood.

It seemed appropriate to walk alone, in the dark, unnoticed by those that passed him as the first icy drops of black crystal rain began to fall from the grey skies.

So he stepped slowly forward, his head down, his hearing as closed as he could keep it without physically covering his ears.

_Even though you've been raised as a human being, you're not one of them_.

Clark had never felt the truthfulness of that statement so strongly.

He had never felt so alone.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back to Metropolis early. Perhaps it would have been better if he had just stayed in Smallville—at home—for a few more days.

He was tired. Fear had drained him, and instead of spending the evening with Lois—even an angry, focused, intense Lois—he was walking in the dark, a solitary man amidst humanity, but not a part of them.

Alienated. The word had never been more appropriate.

He shuddered, then turned that into a sound shake. He shouldn't be thinking so down. He lifted his head slightly, and a drop of rain fell onto his cheek. He brushed it away.

He'd go home, order a pizza, and watch a mindless and light-hearted movie—preferably the most foolish and pointless one he could find. Maybe he'd even call Jimmy and see if he wanted to join him…

_"Help, Superman!" _

Clark's hand flew up to his tie and he had taken a quick step towards the next shadowed alley before he stopped himself dead in his tracks. No. Superman wasn't back. He was still grounded . . .

He didn't care.

In a fraction of a second the wide-eyed, helpless expression evaporated from Clark's face. His jaw tightened, and something flashed in his eyes behind his glasses.

_He didn't care. _

Another moment, and the space where Clark Kent had stood was empty except for a sudden and seemingly unexplained gust of wind.

"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhe—"

Clark ran. He ran like he hadn't run in years, following the sound of the cry. Wind whipped at him, tearing at his work suit as he flashed beneath the dull glow of lamp posts and past sleeping shadows that blurred together into the night like a strobe light.

"—eeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll—"

He knew his city, but even so it took him longer than he would have liked—precious seconds had passed that would not have been necessary, if he could have flown.

"—lllllllllllllp…!"

The woman was in the middle of her second desperate cry when Clark burst into the dark and narrow alleyway. A grimy man was perched, all but frozen in Clark's sight with a knife at the pale throat of a middle-aged woman.

Clark didn't take time to pause, to notice the scattered groceries that had been dropped in a too-brief struggle. His heart burned. How _dare_ he? How DARE he?

Fury overtook him. To the would-be-mugger and maybe worse, it seemed like the knife in his hand simply disappeared in a gust of wind—and a terrible pain like he had punched a wall rang up his arm.

The man howled.

Even the howl was cut short, though. Before the woman had a chance to think of reacting, there was a second gust of wind and the grizzled man collapsed at her feet unexplainably, unconscious.

The woman stared in shock at the man sprawled in the damp alleyway, but after a short moment she came alive and immediately reached for her cell phone to call the police. Clark waited—a dark shadow peering from the top of the building that sided the alley—until the police came and he was sure the woman would be okay. The thief, however, almost certainly had a concussion from whatever had caused the strange and rapidly growing bruise across his forehead, and possibly had a couple broken fingers on top of that.

Clark crouched in the darkness. He realized he should have been worried about that. He usually kept from striking anyone in the slightest—the smallest miscalculation of force at that speed and he could accidentally kill a man from a tap to the head like that—but he hadn't thought about it.

His own arm ached in memory of not-so-distant pain, and he held it close to himself as if feeling the broken bones himself.

He had hurt someone. He had made them feel pain, and he could have avoided it. He took a deep breath, his remaining anger at seeing the attack and the ability to _help_ keeping the guilt at bay. Still, he needed to be more careful. He _would _be more careful. His father had taught him better.

But the woman was safe. One more life saved, one more bit of darkness avoided. There was a little less pain and hurt in the world that would have been, if not for him. His own heart lifted with it as he turned away. "It was a miracle!" the woman cried. "Just…this wind…and then…the knife, and then the man just…It was a miracle!"

Clark let her voice fade into the babble of Metropolis as he burst out running again, sending old papers and garbage floating into the air as he passed.

He ran through drops of rain held suspended in the air, breaking them into shattered mists, and his face and clothes were soon soaked. His leg ached slightly from the strain, but he didn't care.

He smiled.

_"Help! Superman!" _

Clark didn't hesitate this time. He was ready.

With a burst of speed that put even his previous sprint to shame, Clark disappeared into the night, a light in his eyes that hadn't been seen there for many days past.

------------------------------

Lois rushed to get ready. She made a new record for a shower, threw on one of her few dresses that was acceptable for a Lex-level date, and quickly did her hair and makeup before grabbing a pair of stilettos and hopping on one foot ungracefully as she pulled one on. She picked up the second one, but then paused, going strangely still as she fingered the shoe. It wasn't the pair of stilettos she had worn in the White Room, but they were enough to remind her of it anyway.

So many things did. Simple things—little nothings. The soup kitchen on the corner not far from Lois's apartment. A man wearing a jacket just a bit too red. Dark eyes, because they were like _his_, but not. She would never be able to find anyone else with those innocent, hurt, burdened, selfless dark eyes.

When she walked outside and saw that the day was cloudy, she worried that he wasn't getting enough sunlight. She drank coffee and thought about him, with his overdose of sugar and cream. She tried to drown herself in chocolate and she thought about him. Coffee. Cream. Sugar. Chocolate. Raspberries. Red. White. Black.

He was everywhere.

Grass. Sky. Pain. Content. Boredom. Fear. The sun. Darkness. A child crying. Someone laughing. Clark Kent . . .

Her thoughts pulled to a sudden stop.

Clark Kent?

Lois's lips turned downward in a frown as her partner's face popped into her mind. What was _that_ about?

She hadn't even had time to really think about Clark Kent. Of course he reminded her of Superman—she'd been over this before. He and Superman had been friends, so somehow her mind made that connection and the slightest hint of Clark Kent warned that Superman was close behind.

Lois shook herself. Clark Kent was another matter, entirely apart from Superman.

She looked down and turned the heel over in her hand. A shoe. It had been her only defense. Her only weapon, against who knows how many men. Against who knows how many possible horrors.

It was only luck that had gotten them out of there at all. If one thing had changed even the slightest…

She could be dead. Superman could be dead.

Things could be so much worse.

Fate. Such a strange thing, Lois thought. One moment a friend, the next the worst of enemies.

She had to be ready for anything. Right now things were looking a bit better…but who knew what the future held?

Lois bit her lip and decided that she trusted fate, more or less. When it came down to the luck of the draw, when everything seemed at a loss, she seemed to have pretty good odds. She would never bet against herself, certainly, with her record. She might have bad luck getting into trouble, but she always managed to get out of it, no matter how dire the circumstances.

The problem wasn't fate, necessarily. It was people. Someone had targeted her, and targeted Superman. Someone who was still out there.

Someone who could put Lois Lane on fate's bad side again.

There was a knock at the door.

Lois started out of her thoughts, and realized she had been standing there for some minutes, just staring at a shoe. She shook her head at herself and put it on before glancing in the mirror one last time and grabbing her purse. She tripped as she hurried towards the door, and paused to compose herself.

She was tired. Her head hurt from everything McPheron had told her only a few hours before, and she just needed time to sit down and think. She was afraid. What if McPheron was lying to her all along? What if he was working with Bureau 39, and what he had told her was not entirely true? What if he was watching her, even now…waiting…

There was another knock, and Lois rubbed her forehead, still staring at the door. She wondered for half a moment if she could beg off this date, but then shook her head and braced herself.

Lex stood there in the growing shadows of the evening, holding a large bouquet of deep red roses.

A little bit too dark red, Lois thought.

"Lois, my dear. You look stunning this evening," Lex intoned, presenting her with the flowers.

Lois took them. Their scent wafted up towards her. They smelled like new rain and clean ocean—like the air above Metropolis, when she flew with Him. Lois managed a smile, though she felt it was completely superficial. She was so tired. "Oh! Thanks, Lex." She glanced down at them, then quickly pulled her eyes away from the dark color as memories began to rise up again. "Come on in. Let me get a vase."

Lex stepped in, looking to the last detail the perfect, aristocratic businessman that he was. He stood there, not moving from his spot by the door, but looking around at her apartment as Lois searched for a vase. She finally managed to find one under her sink and put the roses on it on the table, though she thought the large bouquet drew far too much attention to itself, just like the bouquet from earlier that week.

"They're nice," she said anyway. They really were quite pretty. But the color…

She had tried to keep the last bouquet around, but the color had made her twitchy, and after a couple hours of having her eyes drawn to them she had finally just thrown them out.

"Only the best for the best, my dear," Lex said. He paused, glancing around the room again as if looking for something.

Lois noticed something first, instead. Lex looked _exhausted_, despite his professional air. His skin hung almost loosely from him, as if it was too tired to hold on firm, and dark shadows showed out starkly against his pale face, which was framed by his thick, dark curls.

"Lex, are you feeling okay?"

Lex blinked as if surprised from his thoughts, and looked at her. He ran a hand through his hair, and Lois remembered Superman making the same action. Lex's hair didn't really change, though, while Kal-El's had sometimes stuck up in the strangest ways after running his hand through it again and again. "I am sorry, my dear. I have been a bit ill, the past few days. I hope you will forgive me." He sounded, of course, quite grudging towards the illness that dared claim his health, even momentarily. Lex Luthor hated all sign of weakness pertaining to himself. "I really am well." He continued looking around, and at last seemed to find something to say.

"You moved your couch."

Lois grimaced, allowing the change of subject if Lex so wished it. She still hadn't moved that uncomfortable thing from its place by the window, where it had been when Superman had been sitting in the sunlight, his eyes gentle as he watched her…

She actually intended to get rid of the couch completely and get something more comfortable, but she had been too busy, and she was strangely reluctant to give the awful piece of furniture up.

"I just…was reading and wanted to see the sun yesterday, that's all."

Lex nodded as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do, and opened the door for her to head out of her apartment.

Lois turned off the light they stepped out, then Lex had to wait for Lois to lock all of her locks. When she was finally done with that, Lex offered her his arm, and Lois hesitated, but after a moment took it and they walked to the elevator.

"Aren't all those locks a bit overdramatic?"

Lois gave a humorless smile. "Not for me, Lex."

Lex Luthor actually chuckled slightly. "I suppose not," he responded in a low amused tone.

They were silent for the rest of the elevator ride, as well as the short walk to the road where a limousine waited. Lois felt slightly uncomfortable, and the night air was colder than she would have thought, making her wish she had brought something a little heavier than the thin sweater she wore over her dress. She was glad when they both got into the limousine and drove off, despite the close air.

After the day of being locked up—whether the Primaries were on their side or not—Lois didn't like feeling so closed in.

Lex actually was silent for a time even in the car, and Lois looked out the shaded windows to the darkening streets of Metropolis. She was tense and sore, and enjoyed just sitting back and allowing herself to relax.

She was so tired. Fear from the happenings of that day had drained her, and now she was content just to sit, and let Lex do the work of starting a conversation, if he wanted.

A hand reached over to touch her knee and Lois started, flinching away automatically. She flushed at the reaction and prepared to excuse herself, but Lex just withdrew his hand casually and continued as if nothing had happened. "So how is the story going, my dear? Your series on Bureau 39 has been astounding. Horrifying, really, if they were not all talk and really do have with Superman's disappearance. It maybe too much, perhaps, for even you to handle."

Lois felt a jolt of annoyance at that, and had to keep herself from retorting sharply to defend both Superman and herself. Instead, she took a deep breath. She was on a date. There were rules for this kind of thing.

"I've dealt with big stories before," Lois said calmly. Lex still watched her, as if waiting for more, and she continued, "besides, I do have a partner."

Lex sat back, wearing a slight frown of disapproval. "Ah, yes. Clark Kent."

Lois didn't like his tone of voice. "Yes, Clark Kent," she affirmed.

"Considering your elite status among reporters, I am still astounded that Mr. White would put you with someone so inexperienced."

" Clark isn't that bad," Lois said, almost defensively. "He may be experienced, but we all had to start somewhere. He has a good heart, and he's one of the better writers I've come across."

She didn't know why she was defending him. After all, he had been quite useless throughout their whole dealings with the Primaries earlier that day. But still . . . that was between her and Clark, and it certainly wasn't Lex's business to know or his place to criticize her partner.

Lex didn't look that impressed, but he did nod. Lois didn't feel satisfied.

"And trust me when I say that as far as partners go, he's not that bad. He's honest, if a bit naïve, and Perry trusts him to watch me enough that he's not always looking over our shoulders, which is nice. Besides, Clark's as mixed up in this as I am. He got caught by Bureau 39 too. The story is as much his as it is mine."

Not really. But Lex couldn't know any better.

_Why had Clark been so afraid…? _

"Yes, I . . . read about that," Lex said, his lips turning downward just the slightest bit. He looked out the window, and Lois immediately felt awkward again.

The ride was relatively quiet for the rest of the time, filling the air with empty conversations about little things in Lois's articles, or of pointless happenings at work, on the news, or elsewhere. When they drove up to the mansion Lex helped Lois out of the car and they walked up the stairs to where Nigel opened the door wide for them to pass with a respectful bow.

Lois took Lex's offered arm again, and they walked forward into his expansive mansion. The large halls echoed emptily with their steps, but as they entered a dining room soft classical music filled the silence with sound. They were soon seated at a table set for two, with no sign of propriety neglected. The music drifted from the corners of the room as they began to eat.

"So, how is business going?" Lois asked to try and start the conversation back up again. She may be tired, but Lex looked even more exhausted than she did, though he was nobly trying to hide it. Still, it seemed to take extra effort on her part to keep the words going between them tonight. Usually the rich philanthropist seemed so much more in control, and right now he seemed quite distracted.

Lex smiled at her. He had hardly touched his food, while Lois, contrarily, had downed the first and second courses in almost astonishing speed, even while she had made a special effort not to eat like a starving woman. She realized that once again she had hardly eaten anything during her work day. Things had just gotten too busy, once again. It was a habit she needed to change.

"Things are going well in all arenas," he said. "I would hate to bore you with the details, however."

"Actually, I'd love to hear it," Lois said. It wasn't like they were really talking about anything else, anyway. She was starting to wish she had tried a little harder to get out of this date.

Even if the food _was_ divine.

Lex sat back. "You're not trying to interview me, are you, Miss Lane?" he said, picking up his glass and smiling at her, but still sounding half-serious in his question.

"Of course not," Lois said. "Work and personal things stay in their own place in my life."

"You are a very disciplined woman. Of course I would not expect anything else," Luthor replied to that. He took a sip of his wine, then leaned back and was silent for a moment.

"As I said, business is going well," Lex said. "Stocks are up ten percent from last quarter, and research and sales are as good as they have ever been. We've been working on expanding—LexCorp just opened a branch in both New York and Gotham, and things are looking all in order there." He took a small bite from his plate. "Oh, yes. LexLabs just signed the deed official—we will be incorporating Metro Physics into our facilities. Our science branch will increase by 30 initially, and soon, my dear, we will no doubt have resources like none other on the eastern coast for the betterment of science and medicine."

Lois felt her heart choke briefly within her, but outwardly she casually lifted her fork and lifted a bite of dessert—the most heavenly, rich chocolate mousse cake she had tasted in her lifetime—to her mouth. She took her time as if savoring it, but in truth she barely tasted it.

"Metro Physics?" she asked, acting as if she were trying to remember. "Didn't a co-owner just pass away a couple months ago?"

"An extremely unfortunate and regretful loss for science everywhere," Lex intoned. "However, it was not unexpected. The good doctor had heart problems, and he was not in the peak of his youth, either."

"But fortunate for you, certainly," Lois continued, casually cutting another piece of the cake, even while her heart was beginning to shout warnings around the same volume as a police siren right in her ear. "An excellent development for LexLabs, like you said."

Lex smiled. "Indeed. As the tide of the sea changes with the passing of the moon, so is the rise of empires."

"It really is amazing what LexCorps has been able to do, in so short a time."

_Amazing. _Impossible, really. At least, over the table, it should have been impossible.

"Whatever happened to your space station idea?" Lois continued leaning forward and taking a sip of her wine. At Lex's frown, she continued as if she took his expression as confusion. "You remember, the space station that you planned to put up alongside Prometheus, those months ago at your ball where we first met?"

"Once Prometheus was put back into the air, we decided the money was better used elsewhere," Lex said after a moment. "We did donate a large charity to Prometheus itself, and LexCorp is a proud sponsor of the research that goes on there."

Lois didn't need to pretend to appear interested. Right now, she had no doubt that such a donation had indeed been made. But the fact that Lex's plan to build his own space station had been cut once the first had succeeded rang in minor key to Lois. "That's very nice of you, Lex."

_Prometheus Project. _

_C.O. MP murdered._

Clark had written those down in his suspicion sheet for Lex Luthor. Lois remembered, having chuckled over the old thing more than once over the past couple weeks. Now, though, she couldn't help but wonder.

_What if… _

_What if Clark Kent was right after all? _

After demanding herself to be foolproof, could Lex Luthor have been hiding just under her nose the whole time? Or was she just getting too paranoid?

No. Right now she couldn't be too careful.

Or maybe, possibly, it was just a coincidence.

Maybe.

But that didn't explain why her reporter's sense was suddenly going haywire.

She didn't know how she could find any more information that might point towards Lex's involvement in any robberies or illegal research, as Clark claimed . . . and especially not that nonsense about aiding terrorists in Iraq. Besides, why would Lex worry sabotaging tsunami warning buoys in New Zealand? So even if Clark was right about _some _things, he certainly couldn't be right about everything.

Could he?

No. Of course not. It was ridiculous.

There was a knock on the door and a moment later a sort of servant-man stepped in and moved quickly to whisper something into Lex's ear. Lex gave Lois an apologetic smile, and stood.

"My dear, some urgent business is waiting on the phone. I should only be a few minutes."

"That's fine, Lex. I understand," Lois said, then worried that perhaps she had spoken a bit too eagerly. Luthor, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Charles, if you could show Miss Lane around. Perhaps the gallery?"

"Yes, Mr. Luthor."

Lois had finished her dessert, and so she lifted her purse and followed the man out through a massive door and into a wide hall. She listened with half an ear, her eyes drifting over the dark and impressive paintings that Lex had harbored in his massive home. The lighting was dim, but for careful lighting upon each of the antique and no doubt expensive pieces, and Lois felt foreboding growing around her.

Had she walked right into the serpent's lair unknowingly?

A picture of a scene from Dante's _Inferno _brought Lois up short. It was a gruesome scene, depicting certain levels of the descent into Hell—from men standing in boiling blood or lying on burning sand to those sinners lying disemboweled or infirm, yet eternally alive in their anguish.

Lois's eyes drifted down the terrible scene, until her gaze stilled upon the furious apparition of the three-headed devil, the red flames of eternity reflecting off his bare and hairless heads as he stood, tall, terrible, and triumphant amidst his horrible kingdom.

_Lex Luthor was created in Hell, and is commonly known among his peers as the oldest son of Satan, also known as Lucifer…_

She had thought it jokingly, some time ago. But it didn't seem so funny, right now.

_C.O. MP Murdered. _

_Illegal experimentation. _

_B. 39. _

Experimentation…

Bureau 39…

Her guide had seen Lois stop, and was now droning on about the history of the painting before her. Lois didn't hear him. The walls were closing tight around her, despite the high, shadowed ceiling, and her hands shook as she pulled her sweater closer around herself.

_Bureau 39._

Lois swore mentally, panic creeping up her back. What if Clark was right about that too? What if she had walked right into another trap?

No.

Experimentation. Kal-El. Bureau 39. Lex. Superman. Luthor. Clark Kent…

Lois had to reach out quickly to catch the wall as she wavered on her feet by the onslaught of information.

Lex had come to her house. He had looked around, as if searching for something. He had noticed the couch by the window. He had called her the day she had gotten back to work, and seemed oddly cheery despite Lois's temporary rejection of his date.

Who else would have enough money to pay off a government operation? Who else would be so completely unsuspected, but the city's most charitable person, Lex Luthor?

_He had been watching her. He had known who she was, and that she had hid Superman._

This was worse than fearing she might be caught by the Primaries earlier that day. She had been ready then. Now, her throat had closed in on itself and she felt like she was suffocating.

Lex knew. He had seen everything.

She needed to get out of here. Now.

_Superman…_

No! She couldn't call him. She couldn't call him. She _couldn't_.

Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands painfully.

No. No! She could do this. She had to.

She was grateful for the dim lighting of the hall. It hid her pallor and rising fear long enough for her to grab it and stuff it into a chest of iron and steel, clamping a lid on it so tightly that she was left feeling suddenly numb and drifting. Her gaze slowly returned from white panic to the dark glint of the painting before her, the devil laughing in the torment of his kingdom. Lois felt ill, but she gritted her teeth and waited for the man's monologue to drain out into nothing.

"Are you ready to move on, Miss Lane?"

Lois nodded unsteadily, and turned away from the painting to the dim hall.

She needed to get out of here. She needed to _think_.

But no. She couldn't just leave like this. If Lex Luthor _was_ the Boss they were looking for, she needed a chance to look around. She needed evidence.

And most importantly, she couldn't let him know she suspected.

She didn't know why he was waiting. She didn't know why he hadn't just snatched her and Superman back up as soon as they had returned to Metropolis, but she wasn't going to do anything to tip the balance and force him to action.

A few minutes Luthor joined them, looking even more distracted, though he smiled as he saw Lois. Lois felt faint, but steeled herself to smile back.

It was like smiling at Logram. It was like _dating_ Logram, only worse. Luthor might not have pressed burning kryptonite to Superman's pale skin—he might not have stood with inhuman eyes in the White Room, his lips curled in a pleased smile—but he had been there nonetheless. He had caused it. He had planned it all in cold blood.

After dismissing Charles, Lex led her back to the dining room and poured a glass of wine for Lois and himself. Lois took it with a hand that shook only slightly, but only took a small sip to try and calm her frazzled nerves as she looked out the impressive window that showed the glory of Metropolis's skyline, but then just held the glass. She couldn't afford to have even the slightest damper on her senses. She needed to be ready for anything.

Lex offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Lois felt sick about touching him. But she couldn't show that. She kept her face turned away, as if distracted by a large portrait of a triumphant conqueror that was hung over the magnificent mantelpiece. It hid her reaction enough, in the combinations of the shadows.

They went out onto the balcony, and Lois immediately felt better at the sight of the stars reaching down around them. It didn't last long, though, because she knew how it felt to truly fly amongst the stars, and there was only one man on Earth that deserved that sort of power.

Had Lex always tried to put himself at Superman's level? He had raised himself so high, and brought Superman so low…

Where was he?

Lois shivered, and Lex put his arm around her in a gentlemanly move to keep her warm. Lois couldn't act well enough for that. The arm was stifling, and she stepped out of his reach as casually as she could.

She had to play calm. She couldn't give even a single hint that she knew.

"It's…beautiful," she said simply, stepping to the balcony edge and away from Lex. The tightness in her chest eased slightly, even though Lex followed behind her.

"Isn't it, though? The most beautiful city in the world, and here we are, on top of it all." Yet despite of his words, Lex sounded strangely melancholy, and he finished with a sigh as he ran his hand through his thick curly hair.

As he drew his hand away, however, thick, dark strands stuck to his fingers like webs. He stared at them for a moment, and his fingers rubbed the hair together as if he were checking to make sure it was real.

Lois stared as well—shocked, and at this point so distant that she felt as if she were watching herself and Lex from a dream. She realized the silence had grown awkward, and she struggled for speech.

"L-lex…" Lois spoke, not exactly sure what to say. How sick _was_ the man?

Lex turned away from her and took a sip of his wine, outwardly calm as a serene lake. After a moment he spoke. "I trust I can expect you to keep what I tell you out of the papers, Lois," he said softly.

"Of course," Lois said, her voice still strangely detached, and she meant it. She didn't mean to drag Luthor's name through the gossip columns. No. The created character of Lex Luthor was going to die an infamous death, and the devil that hid behind his façade was going to rot in jail, no matter how sick he was.

_Serves him right_, her inner voice snarled. She found she didn't want to quiet it, this time.

_Curse him_. Curse him to death. May he die in jail, defamed and fallen, never to rise again. Lois swore it would be so.

It was far too good of a fate for him. Let _him_ be locked up in a white room. Let him rot away in lonely white terror and black dreams.

He had hurt Superman. He had filled his eyes with shadows, and Lois's dreams with nightmares. He had watched it all, caused it all, and now he was hiding and waiting behind a smile…Waiting to strike again…Daring to call himself good, as beneath his white face he hid darkness, and blood, and screams.

Let him rot with the devils that call him kin.

Lex turned to look at her, letting the passing wind lift the hair from his hand and carry it away into the night.

"Lois," he said, his voice soft but dark. "I have a condition that is extremely rare, and hardly studied. Commonly speaking, the closest you may have heard of it would be…cancer." Pure loathing seethed through his words. Disgust.

His tone mirrored Lois's feelings. How could she have let herself be fooled by him? Fury rose up in her, but she forced herself to quell it.

"I—I'm sorry, Lex," Lois said, and she hoped the tightness of her throat was mistaken of sympathetic grief rather than the choking hatred that it was. "How bad is it?"

Lex downed the rest of his wine and set down the glass carefully on the balcony railing. "They're not sure," he replied, emotionlessly. "My condition was not good. Until two days ago I was bedridden, and we thought the worst." He paused, looking over at her. His eyes lingered on her like a touch, and he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "All is not lost, however. With research my doctors have discovered a type of radiation treatment, and with a slightly altered version of the usual attack against such illness, we have good hope for full recovery."

"I'm…glad to hear that." She hoped it hurt him. She hoped it hurt him as bad as kryptonite.

Lex reached forward and put a hand on Lois's shoulder like a light caress, and she hoped he would mistake the shudder as a shiver in the cold. "But let us not dwell such things. Dark thoughts do nothing for us."

Lois didn't listen to his council. For the rest of the night, darkness pressed upon her mind, and beyond that drifted white walls of waiting fear. She walked through them all, her soul quivering for fear, weeping for her loneliness and uncertainty in the hands of this madman, but she showed nothing of it, but for a slight paleness that drifted over her cheek, but Lex didn't seem to notice it.

-----------------

They talked for a little bit longer, but Lois had begged a headache for her to head home at eleven, and Lex had not argued long in his insistence for her to stay. He had tried to hold her hand during the ride back, but Lois hadn't been able to hide her trembling from her rolling emotions enough to dare let him hold it even for a moment.

He waited for her to open the door to her apartment, but then took her hand. "Lois. Thank you for your company. I do apologize for myself—I am afraid I haven't been my usual self, with this illness." His dark eyes watched her, and Lois's heart beat a wild rhythm that made the lightheadedness that had been floating around her throughout the night descend like a white fog.

Did he think that she was hiding Superman away in her apartment? Did he think that was why she was begging off the date early? Was he watching her—waiting for her to bring the superhero to him again?

_Did he even care about her at all, or was it just all about Superman from the beginning?_

The thought that he was actually _interested_ in her made Lois's stomach turn sickly.

"I-it's all right, Lex," Lois said, pulling her hand from his. Her fingers—which hand held Superman's hand so tenderly—felt sullied from the touch of his white hand. "I think we're both tired."

An awkward pause. Lois put her hand on the doorknob. "Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, my dear."

Lois stepped inside her house and turned on the light, then turned and casually—not too quickly—made sure each one of her locks was secure. She paused, listening as if possibly she could hear Lex Luthor stepping away from her door and walking away down the hall.

A long moment passed and slowly she reached down to take off her stiletto heels. She set them aside and went into her bathroom to take some of the confounded bobbypins out of her hair.

She looked at herself. She looked surprisingly calm, though a bit grim and tired. Inside, her heart was tight enough that she felt it was about to squeeze itself into a black hole.

She wasn't sure—she certainly didn't have all the facts—but impossibly, incredibly . . . Lois couldn't help but realize that Clark was right. Clark had been right all along.

Her newbie, inexperienced, naïve partner had been _right. _She had been _wrong._

How could she have been so blind to Lex Luthor's true character?

How could she have missed the signs?

Lois suddenly felt as cold as ice, and vulnerable. She went back to the main room and grabbed her high heels as she went into her room. She turned on the light and looked around, shaking as she looked around.

Lex had asked so casually about Superman, but he had already seen it all. He had the tapes. He knew everything.

Lois's breath hitched and she sat down on the edge of her bed, her knees feeling suddenly weak as a wave rose up over her mind.

She had faced fear and desperation every day since Bureau 39 came into her life. She had fought it, held it at bay, and even used it to push herself forward. But too much had happened that day. She had almost been caught again, she had almost been lost. And then, Lex…

Her warmly-painted room felt cold as white. The soft light of her bedside lamp was normally soothing, but now Lois only felt detached. Separated.

Alone.

Superman had almost died. He had left her.

Her parents…

Bureau 39…

Lex…

Clark…

Superman…

Fear. Hope. Pain. Comfort. Hate. Love. Agony. Terror. Laughter. Screams.

Alone…

Without warning, the floodgates opened, and tears that she had been fighting furiously for what seemed like a lifetime poured out in great sobs.

Lois collapsed on her bed, her body shaking as she found herself helpless against the unexplainable tears. She curled in on herself, feeling cold, furious, so afraid, so alone . . .

"Superman," Lois choked between her tears, hugging herself as she shut her eyes against the world. "K-kal-El. Superman. I really, really need you right now. Please. Please. P-please"

Silence, but for her own shuddering breaths around her tears as rain began to patter against the darkened window.

So alone.

It felt as if a cloud of darkness had fallen over her soul, and it seemed like eternity had passed before Lois managed to find a conscious thought and drag herself from the gloom. Feeling weak, shaky, and more pitiful and miserable than ever, Lois dragged herself from her bed and tossed the now-wrinkled dress on the floor with her purse and her shoes.

She was drained. She was exhausted. She was beaten, for now. She just wanted to rest.

It was all too much.

Lex…

He would pay. He would pay for everything he had done. Clark might not have been able to collect enough proof on his own, but together Lois knew they could get him.

She would get him. And then she, and Superman, and even Clark, would be safe again.

Tears rose up in her heart again, and Lois barely managed to press it down.

It hurt too much. It hurt too much to feel, after everything.

Oh how it hurt, to be so alone.

Lois bit her lip, wiping her eyes again and searching for that anger, but finding that it was strangely dissipated. She had found him--Luthor--the Boss. After that first puzzle piece had fallen into place, the rest had slipped in, and Lois now had no doubt.

She took a deep breath, drawing up what little strength she could around her. In the dim, artificial light of her apartment, Lois stood as a pillar.

Hurt, but strong. Still strong, after everything.

She was so tired.

Lois got ready for bed, carefully directing her thoughts to the paths of what she was going to do the next day, and away from the broken inkbottle of her running emotions. They would be keeping Jimmy busy, that's for sure, and she and Clark might have to run around a few places…

Clark…

Once Lex Luthor was in jail, maybe Clark would go back to how he was before this Bureau 39 fiasco. He hadn't been_ that _bad before. Just a bit naïve. Now, though, his awkwardness was more than a little annoying.

And he had seen through Lex Luthor, even when she hadn't.

She turned off all the lights in the house, but left a lamp on by her bed as she crawled under the covers. She reached over and drew a bundled length of bright red cloth from under the covers on the other side of the bed and cuddled it close to her chest. She buried her still tear-flushed face in the soft fabric, as if searching for the scent of the man that had worn it, not too long ago.

_Superman_.

She had tried to get the stains out of the cape. She had tried to mend the holes. But the stains had stayed, and the color had faded where she had scrubbed at the awful dark spots, but in vain. The holes were just hopeless. Lois doubted even Superman would ever be able to fix it up again.

Besides, it wasn't as if he was asking for it back, Lois thought as she spread it out and wrapped it around her shoulders.

In it, she felt protected. Safe.

Not quite so alone.

But she hadn't turned off the lamp yet. She glared at it for a moment, as if demanding it to turn itself off so she wouldn't have to move from her only comfortable embrace, but the lamp dared to ignore her. She sat up reluctantly and reached over to the light, but then paused, Superman's cape still draped around her shoulders as her eyes lighted on the phone next to her bed. After a moment's hesitation, she reached over and lifted it off the base and dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang. Lois listened to it, wondering what exactly she was doing. But if Clark really had _known _about Lex, no doubt he was worried sick. He had certainly looked terrified when she had told him she was going out with Lex, and even though Lois had blamed him for just being jealous, Clark just wasn't that sort of guy.

Why was she always so blind when it came to dealing with men that were close to her?

It was something she needed to fix. She would figure Lex Luthor out better than his own mother—better than himself, even—and then go from there.

"Hello. This is Clark Kent. I'm not at home right now, so if you could just leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Despite the still-lingering cloud of tears, Lois couldn't help but smiled slightly at the open, honest tone of Clark's voice, but was surprised to get an answering machine this late at night. It was past midnight. Why in the world would Clark Kent be gone from his apartment in the middle of the night? She refused to accept any more dark possibilities this night. The man was probably just a heavy sleeper, and hadn't gotten up to get the phone.

Lois cleared her throat, not wanting to let her partner know she'd been crying. She spoke in a firm, clear voice.

"Hi, Clark. This is Lois. I just…" She just what? Now she just felt foolish, and even more pitiful than before. She was glad her partner couldn't see the mess she was right now. "I—I know you were worried about me going with Lex. Well, I'm back, and I'm fine. So no more need to worry, okay?" She paused, then sighed. "Sleep well, Smallville." She ended with a soft tone that surprised herself as she hung up the phone. She frowned.

She really was pitiful. But she didn't need anyone. She certainly wasn't reaching out to _Clark Kent_, of all people. She was just being nice. After all, she figured she owed the guy an apology or two, after the grief she'd given him about Luthor.

Lois reached to turn off the light next to the bed and settled deeper back into her bed for what she wished more than hoped would be a long, peaceful night of sleep.

TBC….

PLEASE REVIEW! I KNOW YOU GUYS ARE OUT THERE!


	35. Flash Back

Thanks for your reviews, everyone! This last week of school was absolutely, downright insane with how stressful everything was, and so every word of encouragement certainly went forward to make sure this chapter got done. So I thank you, and I hope you thank yourselves, because it's because of you that this chapter got done today at all.

Okay, that was lame enough to be on a "join the army" poster...Anyway.../clears throat/

Divamercury--thank you so much for your review, as always! I'm glad you're still with me in this!

oneredneckgoddess--But you're such an adorable donkey...;) :D /holds out carrot temptingly/ Come and get it!

blah125--I'm glad you're liking the developments. Things are starting to get a move on, I promise you that. I may be slow, but I'm sure...

Fondued Jicama--Hello! I don't believe I've gotten a review from you before. Thank you so much for it--I really appreciate it. I'm glad you're liking both sides of Clark right now. I'm a "Clark" fan myself (though it may be hard to tell, sometimes...lol), but while he tries to make Superman into a mask, I really think it's a part of him that he never really has to face so starkly as in this fic, so that Clark realizes that Superman is as necessary to his whole being as being Clark is, if that makes sense. Anyway, that's a long rant. Thanks again for your review! (and please come again!)

KC-Piper-Fan--I've had a lot of that same reaction--surprise that Lois figured Luthor out just like that. But to me, it was less of a realization than a panic attack at the slightest possibility, and her mind went into frenzied assumptions from there. Kind of like when she thought Clark had betrayed Superman, back when Kal-El went "missing," but this is quite a bit worse. I hope that clarifies it a bit, and I'm sorry if it seemed not so realistic because of that abruptness.

Anyway, here's the chapter! I hope you all enjoy it! PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!

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Chapter 35: Flash Back

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Clark sped to a stop in the alleyway next to his apartment and stayed still for a moment, the world almost spinning around him as he adjusted to normal speed again. He had hardly slowed the whole night, but darted here and there, taking care of gang fights, muggers, and even a couple break-ins and a fire, which he sped by and put out before the fire department even got there. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard—feeling exhausted, but exhilarated.

After a moment he walked out of the alleyway, looking up at the still-clouded morning sky with a tinge of regret. His body ached for the sunlight, and it looked like it might be another long day without it. Bringing his gaze down to earth again, he headed up the stairs.

It was too early for his neighbors to be up, and he was glad that it was so as he allowed himself to favor his right leg slightly. It was sore and stiff from the long, dark night, but Clark didn't let it slow him down.

He opened his apartment and looked at the clock. His wristwatch had been neatly shattered during the events of the night (he had forgotten how it was to wear normal clothes to a rescue), and he had come home only with the lightening of the grey sky.

6:23.

Clark felt a yawn cracking at his jaw, and again glanced towards the dim light filtering through his windows. It was funny. A few weeks ago he didn't even know where his powers came from, but now he craved sunlight, especially right now.

He limped into the bathroom and turned on the light, then stopped stand-still as he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

His hair was slicked back, as it often did from the high speeds when he flew around as Superman. But a few tufts stuck out at odd angles, and Superman's trademark curl was standing up so he looked like some odd sort of angry bird.

His work suit was ruined. He had lost the coat sometime during the night—he wasn't exactly sure when.. His suit vest hung open—two of the buttons were missing—and underneath his shirt was filthy from soot, rain, and mud. He had lost his glasses somewhere, and his tie was literally hanging by a thread around his neck.

He broke that last string and inspected the twisted, tattered piece of once-colorful material.

"And it was one of my favorite ones, too," Clark said to his mud-splattered and smudged image, then chuckled at himself.

He set the pitiful remains of the tie aside, then in a blur had disposed of the rest of his outfit and leaped into the shower.

It took only thirty seconds for Clark to be in, out, and standing before the mirror again—this time dressed in comfortable sweats and a t-shirt. He slicked his hair back purposefully, and pulled the curl down over his forehead. He stood up straight and folded his arms over his white t-shirt. He gave his reflection a stern look.

_Hello, Superman_.

He still looked a bit thin, and right now especially he looked rather pale and tired, but that was to be expected.

Satisfied, he reached up and mussed up his hair again, pulling it from its slicked position to hide his cowlick. It took some rummaging to find another old pair of glasses, but after another minute Clark Kent stood before the mirror, again looking at himself carefully.

He smiled.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully. But even as he spoke another yawn cracked at his jaw and he felt his exhaustion creeping over him like a blanket of warm fuzz and settling his mind into a sleepy satisfaction. He covered the yawn with a hand and glanced at the clock.

6:26.

He didn't have to be to work until eight. He could sleep for an hour, at least…

He limped over to his bed, running his hand through his hair, and then jumped back lightly onto his sheets before turning over to look at the ceiling. For kicks, he took a breath and tried to fly.

No good. But even that wasn't enough to bring down Clark's flying spirits.

There was only one thing that could.

_Lois…_

His tired mind immediately snapped to, and he sat up. Was she okay? Had anything happened with Luthor last night?

His light spirit paused, drifting over his shoulders as if debating whether to leave or stay. Clark's eyes went over to the phone and he noticed the message button flashing. Rising, he went over and pressed it.

"Hi, Clark. This is Lois. I just…I—I know you were worried about me going with Lex. Well, I'm back, and I'm fine. So no more need to worry, okay?" There was a pause, and Clark heard a sigh on the other end. "Good night, Smallville."

Clark blinked at the unexpected message. Lois had called _him?_ Clark Kent? Just to say she was fine?

His eyes darkened slightly. _Was_ she okay? She sounded tired. The message had been left quite late at night, but…it wasn't like her. Why would Lois Lane call Clark Kent? She didn't really sound afraid, so Clark didn't think Lex had actually done anything, but her voice sounded stressed. And why in the world would she call him? But she did. That was a good thing, right? Unless Lex had forced her to do it. But Lois didn't _sound_ like she was being forced. No, she just sounded a little hesitant and maybe even a little embarrassed, though her voice had seemed a little down, if anything . . .

Clark took a deep breath and tried to slow his spinning thoughts, which had jumped into superspeed without warning.

Okay. She had said she was all right, and caller ID matched up and said she'd called from home. Clark listened to the message again, carefully listening for any other voice or the breathing of someone else that may have been in the room with her.

Nothing.

Except Lois's voice . . .

That sigh was slightly unsteady, and shook at the end in an almost unnoticeable way…

Had she been crying?

Clark swallowed, resisting the urge to dart over to her house right away. The message had come quite late, so no doubt Lois was still asleep. Besides, if she had been crying, it had been hours before.

What had Luthor done?

But she had said she was fine.

Clark stopped there before he was caught up in the endless cycle of his thoughts again. He took a deep breath.

Fact: Lois had called, and said she was fine. So Lois was fine.

Lois had called _him_. Him, in the middle of the night.

Clark felt a moment of regret that he hadn't been there. But then, he couldn't have known that Lois would call, and even if he did…around that time he was probably in the middle of catching bullets from a police/gang shootout anyway.

But still…

Was Lois letting him in?

With the thought, Clark felt like he could fly right then, though his concern didn't completely disappear.

He let out his breath and forced himself away from the phone. He was tired. It was a feeling he wasn't used to, and he didn't know how well he could function on this so little sleep. So he would rest, now, and see Lois in a little bit. She was just fine, after all. That's why she had called.

He went back to his bed and lay back down, remembering the relief, the joy, the return of hope as he had swept by some unfortunate victim and saved them from a terrible fate. He remembered Lois's voice telling him good night.

It was great to be back.

He yawned for the third time in as many minutes and turned onto his side. He curled up slightly, then closed his eyes, content as he drifted off to sleep.

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The nap didn't do much good. A few minutes before eight Clark came into work— exhausted, favoring his right leg slightly, but still grinning. He waved to his coworkers as he passed, then plopped down at his desk and picked up the morning edition of The Daily Planet. His eyebrows lifted at the massive headline.

"FLASH BACK! Superhero Hits Metropolitan Streets."

The article went on to tell how Flash, the superhero from Central City—who hadn't been seen in Metropolis for about three years now—had apparently gone on a rescue spree during the night. Those saved had seen hardly a blur before the gust of wind had made him vanish again. No one had yet been able to contact the hero to find out the reason for his visit, and by the sound of things the Flash had already sped back to Central City and was carrying on with his business as usual there.

Clark set down the paper, wondering if there might be some time to track down the speedster and explain some of the situation to him so he might accept the credit. That is, if the other superhero could be trusted. Clark didn't want anyone else knowing that Superman had been without his powers, especially for so long.

He glanced at the clock, seeing that Lois was due any minute now, and figured he'd go get coffee for her and himself at the same time. He turned in his seat, whistling a senseless tune to himself as he picked up the hardcopy of their latest article of Bureau 39's complete fall from his desk, and some preliminary notes on the Primaries. He looked down and was beginning to scan the words as he stood to get Lois's coffee, but bumped right into someone passing by his desk.

He almost dropped some of the papers he had been flipping through, but managed to keep the pile whole, if a bit ruffled. He blinked up at none other than Lex Luthor, his grin dropping off his face and splashing into the floor with hardly a ripple.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kent," Luthor said with a thin-lipped smile, clearly perturbed to have been bumped into so clumsily. He was holding a bouquet of roses, which were now slightly rumpled by Clark's gracelessness.

"E-excuse me," Clark stuttered, taking a step back and bumping into his desk. He had been about to set the papers down, but as he looked into the cold eyes before him his grip tightened over them as he held them close, almost protectively.

"Can I…help you with something, Mr. Luthor?" he asked, his voice intentionally mild rather than the defensive tone that he longed to shout out. What was the man doing here?

Lois had called him. What had happened the night before? Clark's spirit quivered with protectiveness at the thought of Luthor hurting Lois in even the slightest bit—even the smallest, tiniest little insult . . .

He had already hurt both of them too much.

"No. I'm just waiting for Miss Lane," Luthor said dismissively, somehow looking down his nose at Clark even while Clark stood a good three inches above him even without standing completely straight.

Right on cue, Lois swept out of the elevator. Two sets of dark eyes watched her as she strode forward—one set glittering, the other almost reverent.

Lois seemed oblivious at first. She was likewise busy flipping through some papers as she walked. She stepped down the stairs, somehow using her sixth sense to dodge a cart laden with papers and no less than three coworkers without even faltering in her step or looking up.

She glanced up at the bottom of the stairs, however, and for a moment her expression froze as she caught sight of the two of them.

Fear? Anger? Annoyance? Or just pure Lois Lane determination? The emotions darted so quickly that even Clark barely caught a glimpse of each before it was gone, and he was left not exactly sure what he had seen.

It was only a moment, though, before all emotion vanished into a blank expression and was quickly replaced by slight annoyance. Lois stepped forward again, tucking the papers under her arm as she went.

She brushed past the both of them—mild reporter and rich billionaire the same—and set her purse on her desk before turning towards Luthor. She looked at him for a moment, then gave a smile which was not exactly unfriendly, but certainly looked tired. Clark frowned, wondering what that meant.

"Hi, Lex. Thanks again for dinner last night, but I really am busy today."

"A woman with your drive would rarely be otherwise," Luthor said smoothly. He flourished the roses with a twist of his hand. "My apologies again for last night, Lois. In truth, I was hoping we could reschedule, and do something more adventurous, perhaps, as is fitting for yourself. Dinner in Paris, perhaps?"

Clark's eyebrows lifted, and he felt his heart clench as he stopped himself from stepping forward and neatly putting Lex Luthor through the nearest window. Lois didn't know. She just didn't understand what sort of man Luthor was, or how dangerous he was.

He wouldn't let him hurt Lois again.

But what _had _happened last night?

Lois frowned slightly. "I—I don't know, Lex," she said, turning on her computer. She sat down and looked up at the man. He looked even worse than the night before. "Are you feeling all right?"

Clark hadn't noticed it in his distraction, but Lois was right. Luthor had shadows under his eyes, and his eyes seemed almost feverish. His skin was almost stark white, as if his natural color had been leached right out of him. In fact, he looked a bit green.

"I am quite well," Luthor said, waving his hand as if to banish an irritating insect, though he certainly looked quite _un_well. Clark was sure the man thought even that slightest weakness an abomination in himself, and felt slightly smug despite himself.

Served the man right.

The thought quickly turned dark. Lex Luthor deserved so much more…

No. Clark wouldn't let his thoughts go there. It was in the past. Luthor would be revealed for his crimes, and thrown in jail, but Clark had to let it go. The memories could only drag him down.

_Lois_ . . .

Except for the thoughts of Lois. Lois, sitting beside him and holding his hand. Little mother hen Lois, bristling at the thought of anyone coming close to her pet superhero. Little jokes. Hope in the darkness. Even the smallest bit of hope had seemed so brilliantly colorful and yet so comfortingly soft in that sharp white sphere of despair and nothingness . . .

Clark brought his eyes to the present and looked at Lois as she looked up at Luthor. Angel and demon, standing in a face off. She was still so brilliant—his personal beam of sunlight on a cloudy day.

Lois. His guardian angel. If only she knew how much she meant to him.

_You have to tell her._

Clark swallowed, catching hold of the voice in his head. He knew he had to tell her. Lois said they were going to lunch today so they could talk. Clark would suggest takeout, and take her to a nice little corner in Central Park where they shouldn't be disturbed. Then, he'd . . . tell her . . .

The thought made his mouth go dry, and his palms grew damp, but he repeated the thought firmly.

He'd tell her.

_Lois, I'm Superman. _

_Lois. There's something I've been wanting . . . needing to tell you. I'm Superman. _

_Lois, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. _

She might be angry. She could very well never speak to him again, and that made him quiver.

But no. He trusted her. He trusted her more than he trusted himself. She had shown her faithfulness and loyalty a thousand times over. He would trust her, even with his own soul. And then when she called for him at night, he could come. He wouldn't have to hide any more.

And maybe . . .

Maybe she'd just look at him, and take his hand and draw him close and murmur his name. _Clark_

And he wouldn't be alone anymore.

Clark took a shaking breath at the thought. He loved her so much.

But how could she trust him? How could she forgive him? He may not have lied, but after everything that went between them . . . he hadn't told her the whole truth.

_Lois, I'm a coward. _

_Lois, I need you. I need your help. _

_Lois, I want to be here for you. I love you. _

He prayed she wouldn't turn him away, even for a moment in anger. He didn't know if his spirit could take it.

_Lois, I'm Superman. _

_Lois . . ._

Clark was brought out of his thoughts when Lois suddenly looked at him with narrowed eyes, and he realized he'd been staring at her, though his mind had completely missed the last bit of the conversation. His stomach felt a little uneasy, and his heart was pounding with dread—but it was oddly overlaid with a tender pain as he looked at Lois. He was willing to trust her.

"Do you mind, Kent? Or in small towns do they not have a word for 'private conversations'?"

Clark flushed and adjusted his glasses. "I'm . . . s-sorry, Lois."

The apology just made Lois's eyes narrow further. She was practically shooting daggers at him.

"Go get me some coffee. No cream, one sugar," Lois ordered.

Clark nodded and left obediently, though he was inwardly reluctant to distance himself from Lois's side or to leave his train of thought. Conflicting and tortuous as they may be to himself, it was a wonderful sort of pain to think of Lois, even if the thought of her was accompanied with fear, doubt, and terrible memories.

Besides, he didn't want to leave her and Lex alone.

He dismissed the automatic answer of eavesdropping with a slightly guilty hesitation. He was Superman. He couldn't take advantage of them like that. Lois could tell him later.

Part of him was certainly glad to go, though. Being around Luthor made him feel physically ill. His hands were shaking slightly as he walked towards the coffeemakers, and his brow was slightly damp from sweat., and he didn't think it was entirely from his thoughts of telling Lois.

Really…he wasn't _that_ nervous because of the man. But his churning stomach told him otherwise.

Lois waited until Clark had left before turning to Lex. "Are you sure you're all right?" she said.

"I had a particularly…rough treatment this morning, but I am well. The results are optimistic, at this point." He shook his head, offering the flowers again. "But that is not why I came, Lois."

Lois took the roses, though was careful not to touch his fingers with her own. The very thought made her shudder. She looked down at the bouquet. She wasn't sure where she was going to put them, seeing as she had the large bouquet at home and her desk was as cluttered as ever . . .

She glanced back at her desk and stopped in mid-thought. She hadn't noticed it right off, but her desk was clean. Pristine, but for a tall, but straight stack of nicely organized papers safely off to the side.

Clark Kent strikes again.

Lois blinked at it, but then remembered that she was talking with Lex. She yanked her thoughts back on track. "Thanks, Lex, but you really didn't have to."

"Tomorrow, Lois," Lex said. "Tomorrow afternoon, I can have a limousine pick you up. Dinner in Paris, my dear."

Lois hesitated a moment. "Lex…I don't want to lead you on. I'm…really not ready for a serious relationship right now."

Lex stopped cold at that. "What?"

Lois rushed to explain, feeling hot and cold at the same time. "I just don't have the time. Things are just so crazy, and…going to Paris…I'd be lucky if I could go to Paris on my _honeymoon_—"

"It could all be arranged, Lois," Lex said softly.

Lois stared, taken aback by his forwardness, and feeling a little nauseous at the same time. She opened her mouth and closed it before finding her voice again. "Lex," she said, firmly. "We may have had dinner a couple times, but…we hardly know each other."

Lex took a step forward, and Lois felt her heart quicken and she backed up against the desk behind her. What was taking Clark so long? Lois couldn't keep this conversation friendly much longer, and he would be the perfect excuse to cut it short.

"Have you ever," Lex began, his voice soft, "felt as if you were watching a person from afar? Felt as if you knew their soul, even if you didn't know all of the facts of their lives? I know you, Lois. I know you better than you can imagine."

Lois's mouth was dry and she felt as if the blood had drained right from her face. Recovery. She had to recover her balance. She couldn't let him throw her off. He couldn't know.

"Maybe in a couple weeks, Lex. I really need to work on this series." There. Her voice was calm and firm—perfect Lois Lane.

Lex frowned, but stepped back and reached over to Clark's desk and lifted a folded copy of the morning paper. Lois had the odd impulse to stand and grab the paper from his hand. It was _Clark__'s _paper, and Luthor didn't have a right to touch it. Of course, that was an odd thought. Even considering if he was a crime lord, it was just a _paper_, and it didn't matter if it was Clark's or not, for goodness sakes!

"I can't tell you how disappointed I am to hear that," Luthor said, and sounded honestly regretful. It made Lois shiver unpleasantly as she jerked out of her tangent thoughts. He made a show of scanning over the paper. "It is nice, however, that we have a spare superhero to drop in while our own is missing."

Lois sat up straight at that. "What?"

Lex glanced at her from over the paper. "My dear, haven't you read?" He folded the paper so the top of the fold shouted the headline boldly and handed it to her. "The Flash apparently graced our streets last night. Strange, certainly, but who are we to question such beings?" He handed the paper to her and Lois set down the roses to take it. She stared at the headline. "Well, my dear, I really must be going. You will hear from me." He glanced at her, but Lois's eyes were locked on the paper.

_Superhero Hits Metropolitan Streets. _

"Goodbye, my dear."

Lois's eyes didn't leave the paper. "Bye, Lex," she replied perfunctorily. Lex watched her for a moment, then smiled slightly to himself before turning away towards the elevator.

The Flash? But why would the Flash be in Metropolis?

Lois scanned the article, then set her notes and the paper down and turned to her computer to do a quick Internet search. After sorting through a number of miscellaneous news articles, she found a small piece of a rescue in Central City by the Flash around two o'clock Metropolitan time last night—who had stayed around for an extra moment to talk to the police and almost-victim after the rescue, as was his custom.

The hero doing the saving in Metropolis around the same time last night hadn't stayed around. No one had gotten a clear view of him. He had just come and gone, like that.

Certainly not like the Flash. It just wasn't . . . _flashy_ enough.

Two men were reported with injuries, however. One man who had attacked a woman in an alley had a concussion and a broken hand—apparently from the earliest rescue of the night—and the second was a single broken finger a gunman who had been attempting a robbery at a gas station.

Whoever had been doing the saving hadn't slowed even to be careful not to hurt whoever he was disarming.

Whoever it had been hadn't wanted to be seen, not by human eye, and especially not by a camera. The shot from the surveillance camera in the gas station had given nothing more than a light grey blur.

_Superman?_

Could it have been him? But then why was he hiding?

Lois's heart ached for the reasons that immediately popped into her head. He was scared. He was alone, after all. It was miraculous that he didn't fly off right now and find himself a new planet where its inhabitants would be more grateful for his presence.

Oh, Kal-El…

She was there for him. She _needed_ him, stubborn fool!

_Hurt. Worry. Pain. Anger. Tears. _

"You all right, Lois?"

Lois started as Clark set her coffee down at her elbow. She frowned at it, then at him. "Where have you been?" With her talk with Luthor and her search, Clark had to have been gone for at least ten minutes.

Clark shrugged and shifted awkwardly. "Just…you know."

"Hm," Lois grunted, not satisfied, but her mind already taking off on more important things. She hesitated, though. "Are you okay, Clark? You don't look so well yourself."

Clark didn't feel so good. He had heard a call for help as he had been getting his and Lois's coffee, and hadn't wasted time darting down the stairway to the streets below and blurring towards the robbery, but whether it was because of the long night, the cloudy day, or the lack of sleep, his speed had seemed considerably slower, and his arm and leg throbbed unpleasantly. He had been forced to catch the bullets of robbers to save one of the cops, and the contact of the bullet had actually _hurt_.

He needed sunlight, but the clouds hadn't parted since his return to Metropolis. His best hope was that it was supposed to clear up that afternoon. He would just have to hold on until then.

"I'm fine, Lois," he said, curling his sore fingers around a bruised palm gingerly. For a moment there he had been afraid that the bullets might actually break right through his hand. As it was, they had left a sharp red and purple mark which was rapidly darkening to a painful blue-black hue.

Lois frowned up at him for a moment, leaning back in her chair. "Jealously does not suit you, Clark," she said, taking a small sip from her steaming coffee.

Clark was brought out of his thoughts and he blinked at her. He gave a sheepish grin. "It's not that, Lois," he said. "It's just…you know. Luthor." He shivered. "I—you know how I feel about him. He…he's dangerous, Lois."

Clark took a deep breath. The churning of his stomach had passed, but he certainly had felt uneasy around Luthor when he had been here. After all, Clark still had very strong suspicions that Lex Luthor was the Boss behind Bureau 39. The man certainly had the money and means, and from what Clark knew about his long reach, it probably wouldn't have been too hard for him to slip those men in jail a little poison.

Erasing all of his tracks.

He knew he was heartless enough. He knew he had the means. He knew he had the motives, too.

Lex Luthor had always hated Superman.

Lois frowned a bit thoughtfully. "I know," she said. She leaned back, looking out the window or beyond. " Clark, what would you think if I were to say that I think that Lex Luthor was our big boss we've been looking for?"

Clark was in the middle of a yawn—he was _really _tired!—and he stopped and started at her. In his current state of mind he could have misheard her, or something.

"What?"

"You know, what if Lex Luthor was the Boss behind Bureau 39? The man certainly has the money and means, and money in the underground means power. It probably wouldn't have been too hard for him to slip those men in jail a little poison. And if you were right about him and all the other criminal activities you think he's been up to, then he certainly has motive to support a group against Superman."

Clark stared at her. It was a complete turnaround from her usual angle. He half-expected her to suddenly burst out and rant at him for daring to still believe such a thing after everything. But no. She was just watching him, as if actually waiting for a response.

A response to a statement that had run parallel to Clark's thoughts only a second before.

The woman was a walking miracle.

_Can you read my mind?_ he wondered. Lois seemed too caught up in her thoughts, and didn't even glance at him.

"Well, uh, Lois," Clark said. "He has enough money, but…"

"But? But what?" Lois snapped, suddenly irritated. "You aren't going to start defending him, are you? I mean, you were the one that was so big on him having the double identity in the first place."

Clark flinched. "Of course not, Lois."

Lois relaxed at that. "Good," she said, and turned to grab the papers she had brought in with her. "I've been up since five looking all of this stuff up. Here." She pulled out a dog-eared, tattered, and heavily-marked packet of paper. "There's your little list of hunches on Luthor. Now I've looked up some of the stuff and found some decent information, but you're going to have to tell me where you got the ideas for some of this."

Clark felt as if Lois were the one with moving at superspeed. His mind was struggling to catch up.

"W-what?"

Lois shoved his list of Luthor's finances into his hands. "Your notes," she said. "I need to know what you have on him. You got your hunches from somewhere, didn't you? You're not psychic." She frowned. "And get your chair over here. I'm going to get a sore neck looking up at you."

Clark opened his mouth, but was still trying to process what was going on. How could Lois turn around so quickly? What had happened last night?

He retrieved his chair obediently and sat down by Lois, watching her.

"Lois," Clark asked, hesitantly. "Did…did something happen between, you know—you and Luth—uh, Lex?"

Lois glared at him. "It's not like we were seriously dating, Clark. During dinner last night he mentioned something about Metro Physics being incorporated into LexLabs, and I remembered reading something about that from your list."

There was no need to tell him the truth—that she had had a near panic-attack, if not a full-blown panic-attack—at the mere thought that the things that Clark had said about Lex were true, and she had jumped to conclusions from there. Of course, she had woken up early that morning with a much clearer head, but in typical Lois Lane fashion had dived in and soon found enough evidence that maybe Clark Kent wasn't as crazy as she had thought. "From there…well, I guess it was just the key that switched my reporter's instinct back on, and since then I found a bunch of stuff that pointed in the same direction."

Clark closed his eyes, remembering the screams that had brought him to find the co-owner, Dr. Anderson, convulsing on the ground, his secretary helpless at his side. There had been nothing Clark could do, and there hadn't been anything found wrong with the body. It was just a heart attack.

But Clark had known Dr. Anderson, and if it wasn't all that well, it was still enough. The doctor had been as healthy as a thirty-year old, despite being in his sixties, and then he had just fallen over and died.

With some research, Clark had found that one of Anderson's new lab assistants had been an old employee to LexCorp, but had been fired after being suspected on some drug runs by the dock. Clark hadn't been able to find any hard proof, but he had known Luthor had an eye on Metro Physics, and when he had confronted Luthor about it the man had just…smirked.

Not evidence enough for court, certainly but enough for Clark to put another very black mark against Luthor's name.

"Look," Lois said, taking hold of her large stack of papers. " New Zealand. A branch of LexCorps owns a strip of land off the north coast—just out of the estimated danger zone for tsunamis. It took me forever to track it down. If Superman hadn't stopped that tsunami, then the whole coast would have been wiped out, and Lexville would have been able to sweep in and buy up much of the ruined land for a pittance of food, shelter, or whatever. He could buy up miles of his own beachfront property for almost nothing."

Clark made a face. "Lexville?"

Lois rolled her eyes in frustration. "So I made it up, but no doubt he has the ego to do such a thing." She leaned forward, her eyes suddenly intent on him. "The point is, Clark, is how did you know?"

Clark blinked at her. "P-pardon?"

"Right there, on your paper." She turned a couple pages and found it quickly.

_Failed tsunami warning. Tampered? _

Clark swallowed. He had never meant for anyone to see this paper but himself. He was just glad he hadn't written anything more incriminating.

"How did you find out about that?"

He had flown to the buoys, of course. It looked like a simple malfunction on one, or maybe some boat accident or a blown wire in another…but all of them had been that way. That sort of coincidence just didn't happen on its own. Intergang and Luthor had been at the top of his list, but once he discovered Luthor's land ownership in the area, he had become top suspect.

But he couldn't tell Lois that. Not here.

His mouth felt suddenly dry.

Lois had been watching him through narrowed eyes. "I should have known," she said, her voice suddenly very calm. It set off warning bells in Clark's mind.

"S-sorry?"

Lois leaned forward, and her voice lowered. Her eyes shone. "Superman helped you with this, didn't he? I knew you couldn't have come up with all of this on your own."

Clark swallowed. "A-actually, Lois, I—" Lois waited. "R-remember how we were going to have lunch today? You know—so we could talk?"

Lois sat up stiffly. "Don't change the subject, Kent!" she snapped. "So. It was Superman. He's been feeding you information. That's it, isn't it? It was Superman's idea all along that Lex Luthor was some sort of twisted crime lord."

Lois sounded so smug, and Clark protested. "A-actually, Lois, it was my idea."

_Lois, I _am_ Superman. _

"Right," Lois said, flipping through her papers. "I knew you couldn't have figured something out that I didn't if we were on a level playing field. I mean, you had to have more information than I did, right? And you might have good instincts, but you just don't have as much experience as I do. I wouldn't miss something this big that was right under my nose. He was too well hidden. It took Superman to figure him out!"

Clark didn't know what to say. Lois just wasn't listening, but what she was saying wasn't exactly untrue either. If she had the information he had, Clark certainly agreed that she would have figured Luthor out by now.

"So he's been working with you all along?"

Clark shrugged uncomfortably. "Lois. Can we talk about this later?"

Lois's eyes widened suddenly and she glanced quickly left and right. Her face grew more somber. "Right. I get it. I know it's . . . not safe," she said, her voice suddenly a whisper. She glanced down at the papers and paused, frowning. "Why didn't he tell me, if he knew? I would have believed _him_."

Clark winced, feeling almost physical pain at that. Lois didn't seem to notice the effect of her words, but was now looking out the window, but her eyes were far away.

Clark cleared his throat and started awkwardly, fingering the tender bruise on the palm of his hand. "I guess he figured that, well, since we were partners and all, I'd be the one to tell you. Since you didn't believe me…"

Lois was frowning. "But he's _Superman_," she emphasized. "Of course I would have believed him. He doesn't lie."

Clark looked away. He didn't lie either, he wanted to defend himself. Not any more than Superman, anyway. He looked back at Lois with half of a smile. "Well, maybe I should have given you my scout's honor," he tried to joke.

Lois looked at him and softened the slightest bit. She actually reached forward and put a hand over his, and he went still, then turned his palm slightly so she couldn't see the sore bruise. Her hand was soft and warm, and he wanted nothing more than to take her hand in his and never let go.

"Listen, Clark. I guess I owe you an apology. You're…you're a nice guy and all, too, but…you know? You're human. You get jealous. You're irrational at times. It just happens, all right? I'm sorry I didn't trust you, but you just aren't Superman, and there's no way you could have known these things, and there's no way I could have known you knew these things."

Clark couldn't help it. "Superman's not perfect either, Lois," he said softly.

Lois immediately pulled back her hand, and her eyes took on a steely glint. "I don't want to hear it, Smallville." She put the papers in her desk drawer and stood. "Come on. We'll go over the missing details that Superman gave you when we get back."

She grabbed her purse and started forward.

"W-what?" Clark asked, standing and pushing his chair back to his desk. "Where are we going?"

"To talk to Bobby Bigmouth," Lois said. "I was planning on talking to him anyway, but…something else has come up. Come on."

Clark stood and followed after her. Lois glanced back at him.

"Are you limping?"

Clark stiffened slightly, and the limp that had been becoming more pronounced vanished. He flushed. "Uh…well…It's really okay, Lois."

"What did you do?"

Clark swallowed. "I went running last night. I guess I…took it a little too hard."

Lois gave him an odd look. "Running? Somehow I just can't picture that."

Clark shrugged, and they stepped into the elevator and headed to the ground floor.

TBC…

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	36. Speedster

Hello, everyone! I don't have time for individual responses today, for the obvious reason that--what? I'm posting four days early? Oh, never mind. I'll just take this chapter back and wait until Thursday, then . . .

:D Just kidding. This chapter was begging to be written, so I decided to post it a bit early as well. I hope you can forgive me for the lack of responses to the reviews--realize that I did see each one, print each one out, pour over each one with a red pencil marking my favorite parts, and then sat back and laughed gleefully over them. So they are very greatly appreciated. Please review again!

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

SmirkyRaven

Enjoy,

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Chapter 36: Speedster

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Two overstuffed enchiladas of doom, complete with sour cream and extra onions, despite the early hour of the day. Beans on the side. A super-sized drink, complete with miniature, zooming Supermen plastered onto the side of the massive cup. And then, the cake of tres leches.

Such was the price of information, Lois thought with a trace of regret. Especially thinking about the cake. The white, moist, fruit-seeped, cream-smothered cake might not be chocolate, but it was close to it on the scale of divinity.

Which was saying something, coming from Lois Lane.

So she let Clark drive the rental car she had taken out for the day (it wasn't like she could point a taxi to where their source was going to meet them, of course). She didn't know if she could trust Kent with the precious fare. She cracked open the doggy bag carrying the massive piece of cake to check on it—just in case something might have happened to it.

It was such a big piece of cake. Surely, if she cut it just right, Bobby Bigmouth wouldn't notice . . .

"I—I don't think Bobby would like it if he found some of his cake missing again, Lois," Clark's voice interrupted her thoughts with a slight smile. The sunlight had poked its face through the clouds for the moment and was shining down into the streets. Clark had the window down and rested his arm casually on the door as the wind ruffled his hair.

"Roll up that window, Smallville!" Lois snapped. "This isn't a good neighborhood. You know that. And it's gotten worse since…" _Since Superman left. _Besides, it was making her hair fly in her eyes, and that was just annoying.

Clark was clearly reluctant to do so, but he obeyed. He really was feeling a bit too tired to argue about it. The lack of debate, however, annoyed Lois for some reason. He _could_ argue back, instead of lying down and taking everything that was handed to him.

"You know, you don't have to take everything lying down, Clark," Lois voiced her thoughts.

Clark looked at her in some surprise. He rubbed one of his eyes, trying to wake himself up a bit more. "S-sorry?"

"I say roll up the window. You say, 'No, Lois. I like the window down. It's a nice afternoon.' The window stays down. The end."

Clark's brow furrowed. "Uh…I don't think so, Lois."

"Why not?" she challenged.

Clark shifted uncertainly.

"Spit it out, Clark." She frowned. "You know your problem? You think too much. You need to open your mouth and just say it. Maybe then you wouldn't trip over your tongue so much, because you won't be obsessing that whatever you're going to say won't come out wrong. It's better to ask forgiveness than permission."

Clark's lip quirked. If there was ever a quote that fit Lois Lane, it certainly was that. But she was watching him—waiting for a response. He bit his lip.

" Clark…"

"I…I don't know what to say, Lois," Clark muttered.

"Roll down that window!" Lois snapped. Clark gave her a confused look.

"What?"

"Do it!"

"L-Lois…"

"_Now_, Clark."

Lois's tone was deadly, and so Clark complied, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Now, Clark. Roll up the window," she said, as if talking to a schoolboy.

Clark looked at her as if she were mad, then started to obey.

"NO! Stop. Stop stop stop!" Lois ordered. Clark froze, and consequentially almost hit into a breaking car in front of them, causing Lois to give a short shriek. "Careful! Watch the road! Clark, what's the matter with you!?"

"S-sorry."

Lois rolled her eyes, looking to heaven. There was a moment's pause, then Lois folded her arms and stared at him. "Now Clark. I'm going to tell you to roll up the window. Now, you don't _want_ to roll up the window, so you're going to tell me so. Okay? So, say something."

Clark's brow furrowed. _Uh . . . _

What was he supposed to say? The silence lengthened, and he could feel Lois's eyes on him even while he kept his own on the road.

"Uh. Lois, I . . . Is it all right if we keep the window down?"

"Better. Now try again. Firm, Clark. You can do it. I remember the first time I met you and you had some pretty sly comebacks up those rolled-up farmer sleeves. Now, again."

"Lois," Clark exclaimed with a slight chuckle, feeling a bit bemused and amused. "You say close the window. I say, 'No. Let's keep it open.' You say, 'It's my car.' I say, 'But I want the window open.' You say, 'Too bad, Smallville. You want fresh air, get out and walk back to Kansas.' And if I don't get out myself, then I end up kung-foo-ed out onto the road, probably in front of an oncoming car, and you take over the driver's seat. So no matter what I say, the window ends up rolled up."

Clark closed his mouth with a snap, looking surprised at the sudden rush of words.

"What?!" Lois protested. "I would _not_—!" She caught sight of Clark's nervous and quickly-fading half-grin and cut off with a glare, but her lip curled in the slightest smile nonetheless, which she quickly hid. She grunted, but she had a satisfied air about her. "I guess that's the best you've got, Smallville. Now roll up the window."

Clark lifted his eyebrows innocently, glad she hadn't exploded on him. "No."

Lois's contentment vanished. "_Now_, Clark," she said dangerously.

Clark fiddled with the idea of leaving the window down, but even as he hesitated, Lois set her precious burden of food aside and practically dove across him to start rolling up the window herself. She knocked his arm, causing the car to swerve slightly before he quickly adjusted.

"L-Lo-is!"

"C-Cla-ark!" Lois mocked back. It took her a minute to roll up the window, and then she climbed back onto her seat, straightening her work suit as she tightened her seatbelt and picked up the doggy bags of food again. Clark felt flustered from the exchange, but not necessarily in a bad way.

In fact, he felt like laughing. So he did. A slight, soft chuckle, which Lois cut off with a sharp glare as she pulled herself fully back into her seat.

Lois pushed her hair back with a sigh and drew the cartons of food back onto her lap. "There. You've got to do it at the right time, Clark. Protesting at the wrong time just sounds…immature."

Clark's mouth curled in a tentative smile. He decided it was just not worth the trouble to try to figure out this side of Lois Lane. "Right, Lois," he agreed. It was safer that way.

A few minutes later Clark drove the rental car into the lower level of a shadowed parking garage. He pulled into a parking space and all humor vanished behind seriousness as he looked around the darkened area intently.

Lois snorted softly. Even with the dim sunlight, she doubted that a frightened, bespeckled Clark Kent would be able to spot anyone. She turned her attention to something more important.

_The cake. _

No. Not the cake. Bobby Bigmouth. She had some questions for him, all right.

Clark shifted, glancing over to the back passenger side of the car, and his brow furrowed as his eyes stopped on something in the darkness. He paused his search, however, to cover a broad yawn. Lois fought the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't as if he could see anything over there that she missed.

"I hope you didn't take some of my cake again, Lois."

The name was right at her elbow, and Lois jumped and nearly dropped the food on her lap all over the floor.

She turned furiously to Bobby Bigmouth, where he was sitting quite comfortably in the back seat of the car.

"How did you get back there?" Lois demanded, her heart going a mile a minute. Clark didn't even seem flustered in the slightest, curse him.

Bobby grinned, reaching forward and taking the food from her. "That would be telling."

"Well," Lois retorted. "You _are_ a snitch."

Bobby Bigmouth made some inarticulate response through a massive bite of the first soft enchilada.

Clark watched in something akin to fascination, but Lois looked away in disgust as Bobby practically inhaled the food. He paused before digging into the cake, seeing Lois's regretful look.

He lifted the cake up, forgoing the spoon, and took a bite out of it before offering it to Lois. "Wanna bit?"

Lois managed not to physically recoil, but just barely. "Bobby, I need to know everything you have to know about Lex Luthor and the Flash."

Clark shot her a glance at the last topic, but didn't say anything.

Bobby swallowed the large bite. "Kind of disjoint subjects, aren't they? You might have to come back for the second…"

Lois reached under her chair and pulled out the second massive piece of cake that she had been harboring there. Bobby took it without a word.

"Well then," he said. "What do you want to know?"

"Lex Luthor," Lois said. "We need to know any possible connections he might have with the criminal force of Metropolis."

Bobby snorted into his cake. "You're joking, right?"

Lois stared at him, deadpan. Bobby turned to Clark. "Tell me she's joking."

Lois felt her gut dropping and her face flushing. "About what?" Oh, but she had a feeling she knew very well what exactly Bobby Bigmouth was talking about.

"Everyone and their dog with half a sniff for criminality in this city know Lex Luthor," Bobby said, taking another bite. He saw Lois's flat look, and he looked at her in disbelief. "You're not joking. You really don't know." He chuckled. "And here we all thought you were dating him because you were onto him—looking for evidence, or something. But you really didn't know?" The last sentence was said in something as close to glee that Lois had ever heard in the snitch's voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lois demanded, fire in her eyes.

Bobby's humor vanished at the glare and he swallowed, but this time it wasn't because of his food. "Well, Kent knew. I figured he'd tell you." He turned an accusatory glare on Clark. "Why didn't you tell her, heh?"

Clark opened his mouth, but Lois interrupted him. She didn't want Bobby to know how stupid she had been. "Never mind. I want details. Information. You know, the works."

Bobby shrugged. "No one can seem to pin anything on him, really, but that doesn't mean everyone doesn't know. Anyone who starts sniffing too closely somehow finds himself at the bottom of Hobb's river."

Lois frowned. "What else?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing right now, and I won't be digging too deep for that kind of stuff, myself."

Lois felt perturbed at the useless information and the reminder of about how blind she truly had been. She needed to sit back and take a look at her life to make sure she wasn't missing anything else. As soon as things slowed down, that is. "Tell me about the Flash."

Bobby looked at her sideways. "What do you want to know?"

"Why was he here in Metropolis, for one. Why he didn't stay around. You know—the basics."

Bobby frowned. "The Flash isn't exactly a subject of the underground. But still…there's word on the street that it wasn't the Flash at all. Too dark-colored, you know? None of the usual red streaks, no sticking around afterwards. More like that Batman character in Gotham. In, out, gone, that's it."

Bobby lifted the prize of the second cake and opened the car door. "Anyway, got to run. Thanks for the cake."

He left, immediately blending into the shadows and disappearing.

Lois sat back. "Well, that was useless." What a waste of perfectly good food. "Come on, Clark. I've got the address of a couple people who were rescued last night, but first I want to visit the alleyway where he made his first appearance last night. Maybe someone saw something that didn't get mentioned in the article."

Clark nodded and drove the car forward and back into the sunlight obediently. Lois gave him the address and he headed in that direction.

"So…why the sudden interest in the Flash?" Clark ventured.

Lois looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing him up. Clark resisted the urge to fidget. She seemed to decide he could be trusted.

"I don't think the Flash was in Metropolis last night," Lois said at last.

Clark's eyes stayed on the road. "You think it was—?"

"Superman? Yes," Lois said, sitting back. "I don't know why he's avoiding people, but…it could be him. Maybe no one mentioned any flying, but if he was going so fast they could barely see him, how could they tell?" She looked out the window. "I…I'm worried about him, Clark."

Clark felt his heart clench.

_Lois, I'm here. I'm Superman. _

He had to tell her. He wouldn't even wait for lunch, like he was planning on doing. They were alone now, and the streets around this part of Metropolis weren't very frequented, so if Lois _did_ decide to throw him out of the car, hopefully he wouldn't be hit by an oncoming car. He swallowed. "L-Lois—"

"Oh. Here it is. Park right there, Clark."

Clark gritted his teeth and obeyed. He pulled the car into park and turned it off, but Lois had already undone her seat belt and was out of the car.

How was it that he just couldn't seem to keep up with her, with or without his superpowers?

He sighed and opened the door, looking around and extending his hearing in case anyone was coming. The street seemed almost deserted. "Lois, I really need to talk to you…"

Lois stepped into the alleyway and looked around as if trying to x-ray through the walls and ground. "There's got to be something here, Clark."

"Lois—"

Clark cut off sharply at a sound, very far away, but that was coming towards them very quickly.

_Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…. _

It sounded like wind, but a very fast wind—like the sound of the wind in Clark's ears when he challenged himself to a race around the world on a slow day. Clark heard it like it was a mile away, but as milliseconds stretched into a half a second, he knew it was coming closer.

Clark turned his head, only just too quickly for a normal man, and he saw it. Or rather, him.

_The Flash._

Even thinking in superspeed as he was, that was all the time he had to think before the red blur raced down the sidewalk, billowing up a tail of old newspapers and trash behind him. Clark stared, watching the man run in superspeed, though his image blurred even to him.

The red-garbed superhero's eyes went to the alley, and he seemed to be slowing, but at the sight of Lois rummaging around he sped up again.

In that barest moment, he caught Clark's eye. And then he was gone.

Clark didn't have time to hesitate. Lois had her back turned to him, and was just barely beginning to notice the odd wind that was passing the alley. No one was watching. Clark leaped onto the rooftop of the building beside the alley, and in a moment his work suit lay in a heap behind an old vent on the roof.

Blue, red, and yellow darted off in a blur after the distant flash of red spandex.

Clark was glad he had been in such a good mood so as to don the superhero's suit that morning. He had brought yet another spare to Metropolis with him when he came from Smallville—his mother had been quite insistent upon playing her role as "a superhero's sidekick"—and had made him one in the slow days after Jonathan's funeral. It was a good thing, too—he didn't want to ruin another work suit, and there was no way he wanted even a fellow hero to find out his true identity. But the Flash was probably in Metropolis because of the news of the mysterious rescues being put to his name. Clark needed to talk to him.

But the Flash was aptly named—he was _fast_. Clark pushed himself to catch up with him, and the sunlight that peeked through the clouds aided him, but his leg ached and he was only gaining slightly despite his efforts.

He might not have caught him at all, but only seconds after the wild race began the Flash pulled into Suicide Slums and came to a stop in a deserted street.

Clark almost ran right past him at the sudden stop. As it was, he managed to break and stop only a few feet beyond the Flash's stopping place.

The speedster's head jerked around, and in suddenly he disappeared from where he was and appeared ten feet farther back, his eyes wide in shock. He swore. "Superman! Are you trying to scare me to death, or what?"

Clark tried not to stare at his spandex-clad fellow. He wondered who he was, how he had gotten his powers. Was he another alien, or just a human who had had some mishap change him into what he was? Did he feel silly running around in that suit? Did he have a mother to make it for him? Did anyone know who he was?

Clark swallowed and folded his arms in his Superman pose. "No," he said, his voice appropriately deep and clear.

The Flash stared back at him with interest. "Nice suit, man," he said. "Doesn't the cape cause wind resistance, though, or is it some weird Kryptonian science thing that makes that work all right?" He tilted his head. "You look like crap."

Clark's eyes narrowed. _Thanks_. "I need to talk to you."

"About your rescues last night? I was wondering if you were going to own up to them. I don't want to have to deal with any rabid lawyers, Supes. Maybe you don't know about them, being from that red planet of yours somewhere, but they're not pleasant people. You take care of your own dirty work."

Clark hesitated. "I didn't mean for them to blame you."

"Oh, I'm not complaining about all of it," the Flash said, holding up his hands. "I mean, you must have been real busy, because I haven't had this much attention since . . . well . . . probably the day I first put on this suit. Besides, it's not like they can catch me." He flashed Clark a grin.

Clark realized right then that the superhero before him wasn't quite as old as he had expected. He probably was in his late teens, or early twenties at most.

"Follow me," Clark said, stepping forward. "We need to talk."

"And you don't want anyone to see you, hm?" the Flash continued, openly curious. "Why are you hiding?"

"I am _not_ hiding," Clark emphasized, giving him his most intimidating Superman look. The Flash didn't look affected in the least bit.

"Here's the deal, Supes. If there's one question I've ever grown sick of the past few years it was this: Can I run faster than Superman? So here's the plan: you race me to Long Beach, California—on foot, no flying—and then we'll talk, okay?"

Clark didn't have time for that, not to mention that his leg was still hurting, and the thought of such a long run made his exhaustion settle down on him like a mountain. A very heavy, warm mountain. But before he even had a chance to open his mouth, the Flash vanished in a burst of wind.

Clark shook his head and, seeing no other choice, darted after him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't much later that Clark darted into the streets of Long each, California. His leg was aching so badly that he was gritting his teeth at the pain. He was so tired that the thought of sleep was like the sound of water to a drowning man.

At least it wasn't cloudy here.

He didn't know where to look for the Flash, but that problem was taken away when a sudden red blur appeared next to him. The Flash pointed, and Clark followed.

They darted through the streets—between cars and people, between buildings, on a long, curving road, and out through the suburbs. In ten very long seconds, the Flash pulled to a stop along a rocky beach where the waves were crashing into the cliffs. He turned to Clark as he pulled to a stop. Clark wished he had something to lean against as he tried to keep his weight off his bad leg.

"You know, I always knew I was faster," the Flash said, nodding as he looked out over the ocean. He looked at Clark with a grin, but the grin faltered. "Whoa, man. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Clark said, rubbing his aching arm. He shook his head, trying to banish the weight of exhaustion from his body. "Listen. I was hoping you might just let the whole deal in Metropolis go. Could you just—let people keep thinking that it was you out there last night?"

The Flash looked at him with a furrowed brow, though much of his expression was hidden by his mask.

"Look, Supes, I know we don't know each other or anything, but what happened to you?"

Clark gritted his teeth. "I got hurt," he said, somewhat stiffly. "But I'd be grateful if you kept that to yourself."

The Flash crossed his heart. "Swear it," he said. "So this kryptonite stuff really does hurt you?"

Clark folded his arms. "I'd rather not talk about that."

The Flash gave a soft chuckle. "Well, I think that answers my question, though, doesn't it?"

Clark gave him a stern look. "I was hoping that you might keep quiet about the fact that it wasn't you doing the rescuing last night. I have many enemies, and if it were known that I was . . . out of commission for so long, it would make my job quite a bit harder."

He was Superman. He was a symbol of strength, infallibility, and constancy. He couldn't disappoint those who believed in him.

"Sure," the Flash shrugged. "I guess having a couple more lawyers to dodge is no big deal. I mean, you'd think these people would just be grateful for us saving them, or at least that we wouldn't get blamed for hurting any of those idiots we stop from doing their deeds."

Clark smiled slightly despite himself and gave a slight nod, but he didn't say anything. The sun felt wonderful, and warmed the cold skin of his brow and cheeks.

The Flash's careless manner backed off again. "Hey, you sure you're okay? You look ready to pass out, or something. I mean really. You don't look so good."

Clark brushed his arm across his forehead and closed his eyes, soaking up the sunlight. The aches and pains were already disappearing, and his pain and exhaustion was fading behind a soft curtain of gentle yellow.

"I'm…I'm fine," Clark said. "It's just been a long night and day."

The Flash nodded, still looking at him closely. "Well, don't go running off until you know you won't accidentally crash into any buildings or whatever," he said, half-joking. He reached forward and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Superman. I'd best be getting back, but one of these days I might drop by with a girl so you can give us a lift to Italy, or something. You owe me one."

Clark took his hand and shook it, remembering too late that it was his bruised palm. The Flash must have seen the dark, black-veined bruise, but he didn't say anything as he let go of the cautious handshake, though he looked speechless for a moment. He recovered quickly, though, and hid his reaction with a wink and a grin, before he turned and shot off and away and was quickly lost even to Clark's view.

Clark sighed, uncurling his fingers painfully and looking down at the tender bruise on his palm. The bright sun felt like a balm, and with a careful scan he sat down on the sand and lay back, soaking up as much as he could.

He was going to enjoy it, just for a few minutes, and then head back to Metropolis.

-----------------------------------------

_He was going to enjoy it, just for a few minutes, and then head back to Metropolis. _

Clark woke up with that thought still repeating lazily through his mind. He didn't open his eyes, but drifted in a state of half-sleep and contentment. The sound of the waves beat softly through his mind like a mental massage—working out the kinks and cramps and fears—and the sunlight cuddled against him like a warm blanket.

He felt so good. There was no pain, no soreness, no tiredness. Just lovely, perfect, gentle comfort.

He smiled and rolled over, reaching a hand for his pillow only to find…

A rock?

_What the--? _

Clark sat up in a literal blur and he looked around with a sleep-bewildered gaze to the ocean-side view around him. A seagull leaped into the air at his sudden moment, calling in an upset manner as it took its flight up towards the midday sun. Clark stared after it for a moment in a sort of dazed confusion.

The beautiful vista brushed against his slight concern, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to get his mind on track again. Had anyone seen Superman sleeping on the rocks, as comfortable as a baby on a feathered bed? How had he ended up here? Had he been sleeping over the warm vents of the Hawaiian volcanoes again and kind of just drifted down onto the beach? It had happened before, but not since he'd settled down in Metropolis . . .

No.

His thoughts came to a sudden halt as he remembered.

He had fallen asleep.

He, Superman, man of steel, had fallen asleep, and for more than a little bit, by the completely lovely feeling of rest that had settled onto his shoulders.

He, Clark Kent, had fallen asleep, leaving _Lois_ alone without a single explanation.

Oh no. Lois!

With that thought, he was already far away from California and racing towards Metropolis. As he ran, the last vestiges of sleep stripped away from his mind like old wallpaper.

He ran east, and watched as the sun moved from early afternoon somewhere over his head to the back of his head, and it kept sinking later into the afternoon, taking his heart with it.

What had he done?

It was 4:37 pm Metropolis time when Clark sped back to the alleyway where he had left Lois and leaped lightly onto the rooftop to where he had hid his clothes. He pulled them on quickly, and glanced down at the alleyway, though he already knew that Lois was not there.

Shrugged on his jacket, and felt his heart sink as low as a muddy ditch as he heard the jingle of keys.

He had the car keys to the rental car.

Clark just stood there for a moment, shutting his eyes at his own idiocy. His own stupidity and weakness, which had no doubt caused Lois grief as he slept away happily on an ideal beach in California.

He wanted to go throw himself off the highest cliff he could find and hope the Earth would swallow him.

Why why why?

Why had he fallen asleep?

Okay, so he had been tired. _Really_ tired. He still was, really—just not _as_ tired.

But he had been planning on telling her, during lunch. That time had past, and perhaps that opportunity for a welcoming embrace after the revelation. A glance showed him that Lois's car was gone—which could be a good thing or a bad thing, Clark thought, depending if it was stolen, towed away, or if she had somehow gotten another key . . .

He felt like the lowest class of slime that the planet Earth could produce. Or the universe.

He wouldn't blame Lois for never talking to him again. He had disappeared, just like that, and left her abandoned in a disreputable part of town without transportation or even the keys to her own car.

And Lois had been beginning to relax a bit around him, after everything . . .

How much worse could it get?

_A lot worse_, a too-cheerful voice reminded him in the back of his head, but Clark realized slowly that the voice was right, somewhat. The bruise from his hand was all but vanished, and though he had made the trip back to Metropolis much faster than his original exit, his arm and leg weren't hurting him despite his frantic sprint from California.

He really had missed that sunlight. And now he was much more rested, rejuvenated, and his mind shouted pleasantries at him. Physically, he felt as good as he had for weeks, if still a bit on the tired side. He wanted to go back to sleep, that's what.

_Why!?_

Why why why?

Clark glanced around, dropped down into the alleyway, and looked around bleakly.

Clark took a deep breath and walked out into the street, set on calling a taxi.

His spirit continued to sink as he rode back to The Planet.

He was going to shatter her high esteem of her hero a thousand times over, tonight. How could he, Clark Kent—a man of follies, weakness, fear . . .

Before he had felt guilty for running out on Lois, but he had always come back as fast as he could, and it had been to help other people who _needed _him. He had hated to play some sort of god—hurting those around him, however unintentionally, to save strangers—but he had done it because he had to, and he had done it for them. But this time . . .

_This time he had fallen asleep like a drunken, indolent, selfish man._

But he hadn't meant to fall asleep!

It didn't matter, though. He had responsibility. As both Clark Kent and especially Superman, he had responsibility. His father had told him so time and time again.

Just because he didn't mean to, didn't mean what he had done was right.

He paid the taxi driver without a word and slipped out of the taxi. He looked up at the height of The Daily Planet building, shrinking under its shadow.

_Guilt_.

He had felt guilt before. Guilt for his secret. Guilt for trying to hide. Guilt for not being able to do all he should have been able to do. Guilt of failure, when all he could do was just not enough.

But what was he supposed to say? "Sorry, Lois. I thought I'd just sit back for a minute and I accidentally fell asleep. Sorry to leave you like that, but, you know, I really didn't mean to . . . "

Clark bowed his head and stepped forward.

The ride up the elevator seemed to take forever. He put his hands in his pockets and felt sick dread rising in his stomach.

What was he supposed to say to her?

The elevator doors opened, and Clark stepped out deliberately, lifting his eyes to look for her.

But she wasn't there.

Biting his lip, Clark walked down the stairs and looked at her desk, which was already slightly cluttered despite his cleaning of it the day before. Luthor's roses were dark red blots against the white paper and soft brown wood of the desk.

Clark looked around, moving back to his own desk and looking for a note, or something. Jimmy ran up towards him.

"Hey, CK! Where have you been?"

Clark looked up, started. "Jimmy! Where's Lois?"

Jimmy turned red. "Uh. She's gone, Clark. Gone for the day, by the sound of it. You . . . you might want to keep some distance from her for the next few days. I haven't seen her so mad since . . . " He cleared his throat. "Well . . . What are you doing?"

Clark had immediately moved towards her phone. "Was she okay? Did she get some spare keys to get the car? Why did she leave so early?" It wasn't like Lois Lane to get off work if she was angry. She must have been _very_ angry.

"Hold on, CK!" Jimmy said, coming around the desk. "She won't be home. She had an appointment for something. She said . . . not to call her tonight."

Clark swore and ran a hand through his hair. Jimmy stared at him in shock. "Sorry, Jimmy," Clark said, but his voice was grim.

_Now what?_

He would buy her roses. Get some chocolate—too bad it couldn't be Belgian, tonight. He'd go over and talk to her. There was no way that Lois could avoid him if he got let into her apartment . . .

That was a big If, considering how mad she probably was at him.

"So I guess no movie for tonight," Jimmy observed, and Clark looked at him in surprise. He'd completely forgotten about Jimmy's offer. "Yeah. I figure you're going to be busy. She was really upset, Clark."

Clark winced. "I know."

" Kent! In my office. Now!"

Clark swallowed at the loud holler from the editor's office. Jimmy gave him a sympathetic look. "Go get em, CK."

Clark nodded.

"Sit down, son," Perry said as Clark stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. The editor sounded grim, and Clark obeyed tentatively.

"Now," Perry said, leaning forward and putting his intertwined hands before him on his desk. "Lois told me about how you disappeared on her today. Now listen, Kent, if something personal's going on between you two that you can't work out—"

"It's not that, chief," Clark said quickly.

Perry nodded. "Good." He leaned back. "Lois has been having a hard time, Kent, though she'd rather go to the dogs than admit it. I don't need to tell you that. I think you understand well enough. Now I don't know what happened today, but Lois . . . I've never seen her as bad as this, and that's saying something. But you've stayed with her this long, so I'd rather not break up my best reporting team, if I can help it."

"No! You don't need to do that!" Clark said. "I . . . something just happened, Perry. I'll tell Lois about it, and . . . .Where is she?"

"Gone," Perry gruffed. "Had an appointment. Said she wasn't coming back in today, either." He tilted his head and looked at Clark closely. "Listen, son. Are you doing all right? You've been looking a bit roughed up the past couple days yourself."

"I'm . . . fine," Clark said. He was tired. He wanted to run back to that beach and sleep for the rest of the day, the night, and another day. How long had it been since he had slept without nightmares?

He shuddered.

"You okay, Kent?"

Clark nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I—I'm sorry, Perry. It's just . . . so much has happened. I . . . I promise, I'm getting through it. Things are getting back to normal and . . . that helps."

"Really?"

"Y-yes."

Perry gave him a long look, and Clark suddenly felt very vulnerable under his gaze. Finally the editor nodded. "Good. You can go on then." Clark stood and turned to leave. "It's good to have you back, Kent," Perry said unexpectedly.

Clark stopped and looked back at him. "Th-thanks, chief,"

The burly editor grunted and turned away, as if already regretting the hasty words. "Go on. Lois wouldn't leak a word of your latest story, but I want all the details on Monday, right? Then get to it!"

---------------------------------------

Lois was grumpy. And she was late. Again. She didn't think there had been a time when she _wasn't_ late to one of her cursed appointments. And she probably would have been later, if Kent had tried to follow her. For a moment there she had thought he actually might _make_ her listen to him, but had stopped as if he had been slammed in the face with a two-by-four. Good thing, too, or he might have gotten kung-foo-ed after all.

Lois signed her name off on the role, barely heard the directions to the Melinda's room. She knocked, and stormed in the second Melinda opened the door. She plopped down on the couch, and she could almost feel steam hissing from the top of her head.

Melinda stared at her, then seemed to recover. "L-Lois. You look a bit . . . upset."

"Tell me about it," Lois said in a dark tone that was almost a growl. "You want to know what happened today? Do you want to know what has happened to _me_ today?"

"Sure?" The psychologist always encouraged Lois to talk about whatever was bothering her, but today Lois's mood must have been enough to make her wary.

Lois took a deep breath. "Today," she said. "I spent a whole hour marching across Metropolis until I found someone who would give me enough money to use a payphone. Why? Because my wallet, and all my money with it, was locked up in the car I rented because my other one got shot clean through the window. And why was the rental car locked up? Because I didn't have my keys. Why didn't I have my keys? Because my _idiot_, _irresponsible, selfish man of a partner ran off on me! _So I had to call the company, try and convince them that I was in fact Lois Lane and I had _actually_ been _stupid _enough to lose car keys in the bare hour since I had rented the car. Half of my day was _wasted_ down at the car rental, and when I _finally_ got a key from them I had to go _all_ the way back to Hobb's Bay and get the car, and my partner was _still_ missing. And there's no way he was mugged or dragged off or anything, because he was _right behind me_ and then he was just"—Lois snapped her fingers—"gone. Just like that."

Melinda looked taken aback at the pure fury in her tone. It took her a moment to recover, and she sat down cautiously.

"Your partner?"

"A bumbling, inexperienced _hack_ from Smallville, Kansas," Lois seethed, wringing her purse handles as if they were Clark's neck. She seemed to recognize her action and stopped with a glare at Melinda as if challenging her to make note of it. "He left me in the middle of a dark alley, in the middle of perhaps the worst part of Metropolis, without a word or promise to be back."

Melinda's brow furrowed. "Are you sure nothing happened to him?"

Lois certainly had been worried, at first. When she had turned around and found Clark mysteriously gone, she had assumed the worst, and darted out towards the street in a panic, searching for a getaway car or the men who might have attacked her partner. But no. There was no one to be seen, and there was no one but Superman that could have gotten Clark out of there so quickly without a sound—unless it was by his own will, and he had just slipped away and hid in the shadows of the street while she had called his name frantically.

Lois laughed—though it wasn't a happy laugh. "He's six foot three or something, and not exactly a lightweight. I only had my back turned for a second, and didn't hear a thing." _Not even Lex could have pulled something off like that._

How dare the man make her worry? How dare he leave her like that? How dare he make her break down into tears of panic and fear as she searched the alley and street—calling his name in desperation? How dare he make her see those terrifying white walls, and believe that he may have been taken, just like before? How dare he make Lois Lane's heart rip into shreds before she realized that the only explanation was one of Clark Kent's famed disappearances?

How could her heart go from so broken and terrified and turn so quickly into a sheet of jagged ice?

"You know the worst of it?" Lois said, her voice softer and tighter, but no less fierce. "He's supposed to be my friend. It was good to have him back—after everything. He's been gone for the past couple weeks, and he came back on Friday, and though it's been busy . . . for the first time since Bureau 39 I . . . I could forget about things. I . . . I could forget. I didn't r-really think about it, but . . . he had been caught by Bureau 39 too, you know, and . . . though I didn't realize it, it made me feel . . . less alone." Her voice ended in a whisper that sounded awfully close to tears. But she took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"But then he left me," she said, her voice growing cold again. _Just like he must have left Superman. He was too caught up in his own business—whatever it was. Too caught up in his own life to worry about how Superman had needed his friendship—or how much it would affect Lois if he left her there without a word._

And now that he was gone, she felt the hole of where Superman should be as if it were twice as large as before.

It hurt so much that, despite herself, a lone tear dropped from her eye and she let it go. She could cry for that pain—for Superman. But Clark Kent . . .

He wasn't even worth shedding a single tear for anymore. He'd lost that privilege.

"You care for your partner?"

"No!" Lois snapped, wiping the tear away. "He—it was just that . . . He was a friend of Superman's. And . . . I guess it made me feel like S-superman was a bit closer, when he was around, you know? Sometimes . . . sometimes it just feels as if he . . . he was just a dream." She took a shaky breath. "Like he was too big for this world, and that he's fading away and taking everything good with him, and no one really knows him, just _of_ him, like an old story or something. But Clark . . . he knew Superman, too. So . . . he knew that he was real. _Knows_ that he _is _real." Lois gritted her teeth against another tear.

It was so hard to keep up hope. So hard to keep living in question, in between longing and despair—with the chance that she could be so very _alone. _

The very thought that something might have happened to Superman made her feel sick.

The thought of what _had_ happened to Superman made her sick. _What was he going through?_ Lois was scarred enough, but Superman had gone through so much more.

_They needed each other, but he was just too stubborn to see it_.

He probably spent his hours and days and weeks . . . wherever he was . . . guilting away about what he thought was his weaknesses, but really was so very human.

_You don't need to be perfect, Kal-El._

Fear. Pain. Uncertainty. Things that the world certainly didn't find in their superhero, but Lois had seen it before and knew better. She had read up on post-trauma victims, and she knew Superman's troubles weren't over, and neither were hers. But she knew him well enough that she had no doubt that he would be trying to bottle it up as much as he could. And he was so alone—as alone as Lois felt, day after day as she attacked lead after lead with the fearless super-Lois mask in place and bristles up to make sure no one came too close.

"So you . . . _don't _like your partner? Maybe you should talk to Perry and he would split you up."

A lance of panic struck right through Lois's heart. "No!" she said before she even thought about it. She blinked. "I—I mean . . . "

She blinked at Melinda, who was watching her closely. What _did _she mean? The woman was right—if Clark was so impossible to work with, it would certainly be the next step to make sure she didn't have to deal with it anymore.

But . . .

His awkward, shy smile. His nervous jokes. That way he looked at her, as if she were just the greatest thing in the world. How he could look so much like a neglected puppy that Lois's mad-dog composure was threatened every time he bit his lip or ran his hand through his hair, just like that . . .

Lois slumped back, running her hand through her own hair and letting out a frustrated, tired sigh. "I just don't know what I'm going to do now. I mean, it's because of him that we even _have _a lead on our latest story, and it's something . . . I haven't been too nice about towards him."

What would have happened to her if Clark _hadn't_ tipped her off to Lex's true character? The thought made her shudder.

"Really?"

Lois winced. "He's been trying to tell me something about someone for months about . . . about someone I was dating and . . . I thought I knew and . . . I didn't listen to him, and now . . . well, it got us both in a lot of trouble. So I was _trying_ to be nice—to make it up to him, you know?" –and it had been surprisingly easy to be nice to the naïve, stuttering farm boy, once she had let her guard down a bit— "And then he goes and shuts the door in my face. Worse, actually. I mean, one minute he seems like one of the most honest, intelligent, selfless people I've met and the next . . . he's bumbling, _dense_, and goes off and pulls something like this! I . . . I just can't figure it out. I can't figure _him_ out."

Oh, how she loathed him. She _hated _him. He had _hurt _her, and she _never_ wanted to see him again.

But if she never saw him again, there would be no more teasing remarks, no more sympathetic ear to rant to when something got on her nerves. Clark always was such a good listener, Lois realized, and he paid attention, too, except when he got that annoying look on his face that meant that he was about to come up with some weak excuse and disappear with hardly a warning . . .

Lois felt a bit ill. Was _that_ why he kept leaving her? Was she really that awful to be around? She knew she got carried away, sometimes, and sometimes she just got so _frustrated_—with him or the world in general—that she just didn't think before opening her mouth.

Was she really that bad? Is that why Superman had left her? Is that why her parents had left her? Was she doomed to chase away every single person who tried to come closer into her life?

But Clark cared for her. It was part of his naïve air—that so-obvious crush on her that he tried to hide, though he never really succeeded. That slight awe, whenever she walked into the room, and that clean, innocent pain he felt whenever she hit a cord—there was no bitterness in his anger. He never seemed to hold anything against her. She probably _could_ throw him out into the path of an oncoming truck and the farm boy would probably find some way to blame himself . . .

Lois frowned suddenly. How did she know all this? Now that she stopped and looked back over her thoughts, she felt ridiculous. She didn't know Clark _that _well, and the longer she knew him the less she felt she understood him.

"He's so simple. There's nothing there underneath his honest-to-goodness, earnest farm boy spirit. But then. . . he . . . he just doesn't make sense," Lois concluded aloud.

Melinda smiled slightly and leaned forward. "You trust your instincts, don't you, Lois?"

Lois had almost forgotten about the other woman, and now she fixed her with a glare. Before, she would have answered confidently. But she had been so blind to Lex . . . So horribly, completely blinded by him. It didn't help her bad mood to be reminded of it.

"I suppose so," she grumped. "I mean, I _hope_ so. They failed me just recently, though—this one guy I was dating . . . I was aiming the wrong way for him—he had a . . . a side that I just didn't see—but . . . that happens to everyone, I guess."

"So usually you trust your subconscious."

Lois shifted, frowning and wondering what the shrink was getting at. "Well, I don't like the sound of that, but sure, I guess."

"Then perhaps your subconscious mind is trying to tell you something."

Lois gave her an odd look. "About Kent? Right. What, that he's an undercover crime lord? Or maybe that he doubles as a super hero in his spare hours?"

Melinda chuckled at that. The idea was, of course, ridiculous. "Of course not. But perhaps there's more to him that you give him credit for, Lois."

Lois rolled her eyes, sitting back in the chair and folding her arms. "Like what?"

"I don't know. But you're an investigative reporter. So investigate!" Melinda said.

Lois looked at her and shook her head. "For all the good it will do, researching things like cows and all," she said with a sigh, but as her gaze was drawn towards the window and the sky beyond that, her eyes narrowed. What did she have to lose?

Lois Lane hated to be in the dark.

"But why not?" she asked herself, crossing her arms thoughtfully.

_Clark Kent, you are now officially on Lois Lane's investigative radar._

--------------------------

Melinda Helmerson closed the door behind Lois Lane well past their appointed time, but she had scheduled a break after the intense reporter after realizing that a recovery period was necessary. She sat down on one of the couches and sat back with a sigh.

_Brrrrring…Brrrrring… _

Melinda sat up sharply, staring at the phone on her desk. She stood up slowly and walked towards it.

_Brrrring . . . Brrrring . . . _

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the receiver.

"He—hello?"

"Hello, Melinda," a soft, almost growling voice muttered from the other end. Melinda's hand tightened on the telephone.

"What do you want?"

"I told you what I wanted, Helmerson. I have been patient, but my patience is not everlasting—it has a limit."

"I will not be frightened by you!" Melinda said firmly, but the paleness of her complexion and shaking of her voice betrayed the thin lie. "I respect my patients' privacy. If you want someone to _spy_ on Miss Lane, you'll have to find someone else." She slammed the phone down on the stand.

A moment passed, and she stood there, shaking.

_Brrrring . . . Brrrring . . . . _

She wouldn't get it. She wouldn't.

_Beep_. Her message machine turned on. "Hello, this is Melinda Helmerson's office. If you could please leave a name and a number, either I or my secretary will call you back. Thank you." _Beep_.

There was a moment of dreadful silence, and Melinda hoped that the man had just given up once again.

"Mrs. Helmerson," the soft, dark voice graveled. "I told you last time we spoke that there are things that can make even the most moral of persons break all of their bounds. I have your husband, Mike, here with me, Melinda dear, and if you don't pick up the phone in three seconds . . . well, use your imagination. One . . . two . . . "

Melinda snagged the phone off the base. "You're lying!" she said, but it was desperate.

"Are you willing to risk that?" Cold. His voice was so cold.

Melinda didn't know what to say.

_BANG!_

Melinda jumped at the loud, unmistakable pop of a gun firing on the other side of the line.

"What was that!? Why are you shooting?" she screamed, frantic.

"Oh, one of the guns just accidentally went off, I'm afraid. It looks like your husband won't be walking for some time, my dear."

Melinda swore, tears breaking onto her cheeks. "Stop! Stop it!"

"How long does it take a man to bleed to death from a gunshot wound like that? Oh, dear. That does not look pleasant. If you want to see your husband alive, Mrs. Helmerson, you'd better start talking. Fast."

"N-no," Melinda's voice quivered.

_BANG!_

Melinda screamed.

"Stop! Okay! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Her legs went weak beneath her, and she sank to the floor, clutching the phone to her ear as she wept. "Don't hurt him. Please. Please!"

"He'll be just fine, if you cooperate. Now, tell us what she said."

Melinda's hand shook, but she drew her notepad towards her and flipped to her most recent conversation with Lois Lane and with a quavering voice read through them—with everything from the reporter's rants on her naïve partner, to every single word that slipped out of Lois's mouth about one Lex Luthor.

TBC . . .

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!


	37. To Be Alone

Hello, everyone! I'm back with my weekly update (even though I gave you guys an extra one on Monday ;)). I hope everyone's life is going well, that everyone in school is doing well in school, and that everyone with a job is having a jolly good time with that.

Thanks for all of the reviews!

Divamercury: "Fabulous, of course!"? Don't take it for granted! I hope each chapter keeps up to your expectations!

oneredneckgoddess: Ah, come on. You know you like the cliffies. Really . . .

KC-Piper-fan: So it seems.

Blah125: Yeah, poor Melinda. My little sister was furious at her, but really . . . what would you do in that situation?

Thanks for all encouragement and reviews, everyone! They really, really do help!

Enjoy,

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Chapter 37: To Be Alone

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Lois called Jimmy on her cell phone, and despite her own hot anger she let out a soft sigh of relief when she found that Clark had, indeed, stopped in—and was actually working at his desk at that very moment. Lois quickly threatened Jimmy with his life if he dared tell Clark that she was calling to check up on him, and then hung up with a curt thanks.

She drove away from the clinic, feeling admittedly better. Of course, she was still furious with Clark Kent—and it had built up a few degrees again, when it was confirmed that she didn't need to worry about him—and she was still tired and irritated, but she was in control, at least.

Not enough to try going home yet, though. No doubt Kent would either be hanging onto her doorbell or have her phone ringing off the hook. Right now she might not be as tempted to nail him up next to Luthor, but she didn't trust herself enough to face him like this.

She had to prepare herself. She had to be ready.

She was going to see right through him. The farm boy didn't have a chance.

Her jeep was going to be ready to pick up from the shop the next day, but the repair shop she had chosen and the car rental were not exactly the closest distance, so rather than worry about taking care of the rental the next day, Lois just dropped it off and decided to walk home. It was only a couple miles, and she had worn comfortable shoes for good, hard investigating. Besides, the sun was already setting, and the sky was clear, for the moment, which was refreshing after the long week of clouds and storms.

And it would probably be good for her to stop and let herself think.

She had been so busy. So busy, and with Superman missing, Luthor gone bad, Clark Kent disappearing, Bureau 39, or the Primaries . . . she felt like she had cut her strings some place back in time and was drifting, having lost herself in the clutter of her own life.

She sighed, breathing in the grey dusk of twilight, which smelled so lovely after the intermittent sprinkles of rain throughout the day. She could see clouds billowing up out beyond the bay, though. This peace was not going to last. Tomorrow, no doubt, would bring a torrent of rain.

She sighed. Another cloudy day. She hoped Superman could get enough sun, through the clouds and all. He had functioned well enough before, even when Metropolis had been cloudy for weeks on end—but he had been able to move about, too. But maybe he wasn't even in Metropolis right now; maybe he had left, and was recovering somewhere in the Bahamas, or maybe Hawaii. Lois smiled at that. She could just see him, stretched out on some beach with raspberry lemonade at his side . . .

She hoped he was okay.

She stepped forward, her face upwards as she tasted the wind. The sun sank lower, bathing the clouds in brilliant hues of scarlet and yellow, and against the remnants of blue sky, she felt wrapped up in comfort.

Lois Lane wasn't a sentimentalist. She wasn't a tree hugger—she just didn't have time for that sort of thing. But she so did love to fly, high up there in the stars. She'd never felt so free, so inspired, so _happy, _as when she flew up there . . . _with him_. She loved to take time and walk to Central Park and read off where no one could see her and bother her. She had missed that quiet time.

But sometimes . . . it was just too quiet.

She sighed. However much she had missed it, there was a reason she had been avoiding it, though. Thinking was dangerous. It made that loneliness creep up on her and pounce, and could leave her feeling so lost and afraid and alone that she just wanted to break down and cry until someone came that could take care of her. And only one person could do such a thing—Superman.

Sometimes, when she was working, it was like he was right beside her. It was like she could feel him, and if she turned fast enough, perhaps he would be there.

He felt so _close_ sometimes.

The last of the sun's golden rays sank behind grey clouds and were swallowed up in the sea.

Lois adjusted her grip on her purse and shook herself, having realized that she had slowed to a stop to watch the vanishing light. She brought her eyes down and walked forward, her thoughts taking off into the sky again.

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Lois had left a good part of the Bureau 39 article done, and Clark finished and fixed a few things as he thought guiltily about how he had abandoned her to work on her own. Finishing the article, he sent it to Perry, then left.

Now, he was sitting down on the floor, leaning back against the wall across from Lois's apartment door, a large box of chocolates and a carefully set bouquet of blue and yellow flowers that he had selected from the flower store. His eyes didn't move from the door, as if she somehow hoped that she might appear inside, though he knew by both hearing and sight that she certainly was not on the other side of the door.

He shifted and ran his hand through his dark hair—which was already fluffed upwards from the repeated action—then rested his arms on his knees. In his work suit he looked more than a little awkward. He had been waiting for over an hour, and he had already told himself he wasn't moving until Lois came home. And then, if she wouldn't talk to him, he'd camp out in the hall until she _had _to listen . . .

Clark shivered.

_Lois, I'm Superman_, he repeated to himself. It had become like a mantra throughout the day, though every time he thought of the words he felt slightly ill, and his palms grew damp with fear.

Why was he so afraid? He had reasoned through it. He was going to tell her. Being afraid did nothing.

_He was afraid. He was a coward. He was helpless. He was a figure of glass, balancing on the edge of a cliff ready to fall, and only Lois could catch him_.

And she might be so angry that as he leaped forward into her arms she might not even notice him.

She never seemed to notice Clark Kent.

And was it fair at all to expect her to, after everything he had put her through?

Clark sighed heavily, and his breath shook at the end. It was a sigh of utter weariness. He was tired of lying. He was tired of being afraid—for himself, for his mother, for Lois . . . for the world. He was tired of being afraid of _Them_, and Luthor most of all.

He was tired of that sick twist of dread that had curled up in his heart and had only grown larger and blacker after his escape, his father's death, and coming back to Metropolis . . .

Clark ran hand through his hair yet again. He just wanted it over. He just wanted Lois to see him for who he was, and for her to know how much he cared for her . . . and heaven help her not be too upset at him.

A good lot of chance _that _hope had of coming true, at this point.

_Please don't let her turn him away_.

Clark swallowed, pulling his right arm against his stomach. It didn't hurt really, but despite his long nap, he was tired, and it had become almost second nature for him to take a little more care with it.

After what had happened.

Clark shook his head. Dark thoughts always tried to sneak up on him and pounce. In Smallville he had done his best to keep them away by keeping busy, and his mother had made sure that he wasn't alone long enough to spend much time obsessing, except late at night, alone in the dark. He had kept busy since coming back to Metropolis, and hadn't had time to think.

Now he had time to think, and maybe it wasn't such a good thing.

_White . . . Green . . . _

Clark cut off the thought quickly, screwing his eyes shut and rubbing them as if to physically erase the memories from the planes of his eyes. He had learned that if he took too long to stem that familiar growing horror as it slid into him, there was often nothing he could do but be swept away in the flood of terrible memories.

_Lois, I'm Superman. _

A moth danced around the ceiling of the hallway, knocking itself against the dull white walls it blindly sought its way towards the yellowed lightbulb above Clark's head. The faint knocking of the delicate wings against the wall sounded bruising in his ears with the surrounding silence. He shook his head, letting the soft yet lonely sound mix with the babble of nightfall in Metropolis.

Superman _was_ coming back, soon—but he wasn't back, quite yet. Clark couldn't consider that his rescues and heroics the day before had been anything more than just himself. Superman was more than he was. Superman was an ideal—an image . . . and last night Clark had been the one running around catching bullets and nabbing crooks.

It was an odd thought. Despite the fact that Clark had spent most of his life doing just that thing, without any disguise . . . something had happened. The suit was more than just a mask, now. It was a symbol, and so long as he stayed hidden Superman was still missing, as far as the world was concerned.

Until then, the city would have to make do with Clark Kent.

Clark had actually had to leave his place of vigil only a few minutes before, when he had heard a soft and pain-filled cry for help. He had followed the cries to Hobb's Bay where he had found a half-conscious man—shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the leg, and Clark had rushed taken care of him as best as he could and called for an ambulance—as it was, it wouldn't have done the man good to be raced there on foot. His condition hadn't looked good at all, but the doctors thought he had a good chance at surviving, at least.

Clark brushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn't know why he hadn't heard the gunshots in the first place. He didn't know why someone would take such a normal, middle-class man and shoot him. _Why?_ Why did mankind do any of these things?

_Why did they . . . ? _

_White. Terror. Pain . . . _

_Why?_ his thoughts cried desperately. He just wanted to help. He had always just wanted to help.

Clark had raced to the docks, where he had heard the feeble cries, and seen the man slumped there as if he had simply been tossed there to be taken out with the garbage.

He had tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood—too much blood. It had gotten all over his hands, trying to help him the half-delirious man who had only had enough strength to look up at him through a weakened gaze and recognize him.

_"Superman_." His voice had held relief, gratitude, and hope. The man had thought he was going to die, but Clark being there had made him stop and hope again. It made Clark feel like nothing. He didn't deserve that kind of thanks—that kind of _worship_. He was just a normal guy, where it counted. A normal man with flaws. Sure, he did his best to help people, but so did countless of other good souls around the world.

Every time someone looked at him with that sort of awe he felt so _small_. He didn't deserve it. No man did.

And at that moment Clark had certainly felt inadequate and helpless. He had tried to stem the blood flow as he could until the ambulance came, but the man's heart beat was erratic and faint. Once the authorities came he had run off before they could see him, but had hidden not far away until he heard that the man had a chance of surviving.

Blood. There had been so much blood. It had soaked right into the skin of his hands, it seemed, and though he had scrubbed his hands with soap for ten minutes in superspeed—until the water evaporated and the soap burned into a black stench—he could still feel it on him.

He shivered, and returned to staring at the unchanging closed door before him.

_Where was Lois? He needed Lois. _

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Lois continued her walk home. The stars had come out, and were actually visible—a rare thing in Metropolis, and an even rarer thing from this far down between the tall buildings, bright lights, and dirty air of the city. So she walked slower and enjoyed it, hoping that by the time she got home maybe Clark would have given up seeing her for tonight at least.

Why did he even bother anymore? Lois had lost track of the times he had run off on her and had to come back begging for an apology. Usually, Lois just ranted at him for a while and that was it. Of course, this time had been much worse, and the man certainly _did _deserve to feel like the low-class idiot he was, but right now Lois just wanted to go home and go to bed.

He was so persistent. Couldn't he just see that she just wasn't interested in whatever his little town crush had to offer her?

Crazy man. As if she cared or had the time—

Something cold and hard dug into the small of her back, and Lois's musings fell flat on the chilling ground and froze there.

"Okay, Lane. Into the alleyway."

Oh, no.

Lois froze at the harsh voice and realization of what exactly was going on there. But the man holding the gun to her back didn't seem ready to give her some time to let her thought processes pick up.

_No._

"Listen. See that kid across the street?" Lois did. He wore some slightly too-large clothes and looked to be from one of the poorer families around here. He was probably in his early-teens, thin, with hair that needed trimming and an air that Lois could see even from where she was reminded her somewhat of a younger Jimmy Olsen. He was carrying a backpack and seemed completely oblivious to any danger, despite the empty street and shadowed corners. "Now see that man walking towards him? You don't do as you're told, and the kid's dead."

Lois's throat was tight, but that threat doused her with cold water. She had no doubt that they could and would carry through with their threat. She stepped forward stiffly, carefully. The man walking towards the boy had a hand in the large pocket of his trench coat and was watching her.

She let herself be pushed in, and she saw two other men standing in the black shadows behind a dumpster. The darkness made their faces angular and alien, and Lois hid a shiver.

They looked just like random hoodlums, or perhaps yet some more thugs from some old criminal with a grudge, by the fact that they knew her name—but as soon as the one with the gun opened his mouth she knew differently.

"The boss is tired of you picking around, Miss Lane," his voice tickled against her neck and his breath stank—she shuddered in sheer revulsion at his closeness.

The boss.

_Lex_.

What had happened? She had tried so hard that morning not to make him upset—just to put off his advances, rather than down right refusing. Apparently that hadn't been enough.

Lex Luthor had lost his patience.

Lex Luthor. That meant they could have kryptonite. They could be coming for _him_, again…

"I won't call him," Lois's voice shook, but her expression was unwavering. "It won't work again. I don't care what you do—kill me if you want, but I won't call him."

"Oh, no, no, no, Miss Lane," the ruffian continued speaking in her ear. "You're coming with us right here…"

That thought was just as awful. Every smile and gentle touch that Lex Luthor had bestowed upon her now fell upon her memory as slime and filth.

Lois made her move then. She elbowed the man behind her in the gut, twisted out of his grip, and jerked back wards away from him. But the thugs must have been warned that she would try something, because immediately hard hands caught her from behind and knocked her hard into the brick wall of the alley.

Pain exploded in Lois's head the side of her face smacked against wall and she gave an involuntary cry as she fell. The hands grabbed her and dragged her to her feet roughly, but Lois wasn't through despite the white flashes before her eyes, she pulled back and attempted a blind punch, but it was blocked and the man holding her backhanded her sharply across the face.

"Help, S—!" Lois choked on the automatic cry. The man backhanded her again and she staggered and would have fallen had not harsh hands caught her from behind. She bit her tongue, refusing to make more of a cry even as she tasted blood in her mouth and felt a damp trickle making its way down her brow.

Cold metal dug into her side and Lois felt her mind slow.

This was it. This was finally it. She was going to die at the hands of the Lex's thugs, but heaven help her if she was going to bring Superman into this again.

Poor Kal-El. He would never forgive himself, idiot man.

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Clark was beginning to nod off despite himself, and he was now sitting cross-legged against the wall with his head bowed into his hands and his fingers lost in the depths of his dark hair as he waited.

The hall was silent. Any passerbyers had already passed, and now were settled in their apartments, going about their normal lives. The dim, yellowed lightbulb over Clark's head was buzzing slightly, and as he sat there it began to flicker, as if trying to send some sort of alien Morse code with the occasional flicker and crackle of electricity as it blinked on and off half-heartedly. The moth had passed on—though to where, Clark didn't know.

Lois. Lois Lois Lois Lois.

She would come striding up the stairway like a righteous angel set of dealing swift judgment. Her hair would fall out behind her like some beautiful dark cape and her eyes would flash brighter than the hottest fire.

She was so beautiful when she was angry.

She was so beautiful when she was so focused—like a beam of concentrated sunlight.

She was so beautiful when she finally slowed down and smiled, and laughed. She had the most beautiful smile . . .

The very thought of it made a smile grow on Clark's own face despite his nervousness and darker thoughts. He smiled and listened for her—searching for her heartbeat. Of course, that was ridiculous. Even if he did not imagine her calling him in Smallville from all the way in Metropolis, it was surprising enough that he could hear the difference in her heart beat twenty feet away. Besides, he had no idea where she had gone to.

The whole city thrumbed with thousands of heartbeats, but he was right—he couldn't find Lois's.

So he stretched , searching for something else. Her breathing, perhaps, or that grumbling under her breath that she did so often. Lois practically kept a two-sided conversation going with herself all the time, after all—

_Crack! _

Clark flinched at the sound, and jerked upright. _What the…?_

A faint, stifled cry.

_Lois!? _

Clark was off the ground and running without a further thought—not superspeed, because of the man that had just come up the stairs and stared at him as if he were mad as he ran past—but still _fast._

Probably unnaturally so, and he wasn't exactly sure if his feet were touching the ground as he darted around the corner away from the man—but it was dark as he shot through the stairway and out onto the darkened street in front of the apartment complex, so that was okay.

_"Help, Su—"_ The cry was cut off.

It _was_ Lois.

Fear dug its fingernails into Clark's heart as he darted into the shadows in the alleyway, ripping off his clothes to the bright suit underneath as he launched upwards into the black air without a second thought.

_Lois_.

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"Okay, girlie, into the truck."

_What? _Wouldn't it be easier to just kill her here, and then get rid of her body…?

_Whoooosh!_

Wind brushed against her face, but even as she blinked at the sudden draft, the four men in front of her just…disappeared.

Vanished, just like that.

_What the…? _

Lois blinked, beginning to turn her head, then…

_Whoooosh! _

"L-Lo-is, are you all right?"

Lois turned sharply, suddenly free of her captors, and felt her knees go weak.

Superman.

He was standing there, in all his blue and red and yellow glory. But his controlled, distanced, and confident air was missing. He looked ready to jump forward and catch her—but held back for some reason, and his eyes were dark with barely controlled panic.

Superman…He was _there._

There was no time for anger. No time for demanding explanations.

She flung forward with a cry, and he was forced to catch her. His warm hands were on her arms, supporting her, holding her…

She buried her face in his s-shield, not allowing him to keep her at arm's length.

He was so _warm_.

He was so _real_.

Lois breathed out a thankful oath and shut her eyes, clinging onto him. "S-superman." _He was here. He was alive. He wasn't hurt._

"Lois." Her own name was breathed out in relief, and his arms went around her, protecting her. He was shaking slightly, but he pulled back, cutting the embrace short—far too short. His hand brushed her hair back from her eyes in a familiar gesture as he looked at the bruise and cut on her brow, and his eyes darkened. "Are you okay?"

Lois nodded, putting her hand over his on her face. She couldn't pull her eyes away from him, even if she wanted to. He looked so _good_—healthy, and whole. The bandages were gone, and he stood without a sign of a limp.

She leaned forward to hug him again, tears breaking at her eyes. "Superman. Kal-El. Oh, Kal-El."

Clark wanted to pull away, even though he didn't. He couldn't let this happen—not so long as she didn't know his secret—and right now he felt far too shaken to even try to tell her. But he couldn't make himself step back again. He had worked around her, and spent restless nights wishing for her embrace, for her beautiful voice and warm arms. And he had almost lost her.

His own arms tightened around her and he brought her close again. He heard her sniffle and his heart ached. But then, he felt tears sting at his own eyes, and he couldn't help but lean forward into her embrace, just resting for a moment—just standing there, in the shadowed alleyway that could have held a terrible doom for both of them, but now was a place of such a reunion. So they stood under the dark sky, the stars shining like pure beams over the two of them as they stood.

Together.

No longer drifting like scattered pieces of grass on the wind. No longer fettered down in a lonely prison while strangers walked by, unheeding. No longer sitting in whiteness, blinded and unfeeling.

No longer _alone_.

Clark would have been content to stand like that forever without moving. Relief and pain seeped out of him like tears, filling with a beautiful warmth. He could stand there forever, as long as Lois was there with him.

"L-Lois?" he whispered, not letting go of her. "Are you—are sure you're all right?"

Lois sniffled. Slowly, she turned her tear-streaked face up towards his. Her eyes were wide and dark as she looked at him, the starlight dancing in their depths. Her love for him outshone them all.

She had never looked so beautiful.

But then a shadow passed over her face, and Clark could practically see the wall of defenses beginning to rise. He tensed and readied to pull away from her—preparing himself for what was to come.

Lois knew he was alive. Now came the storm.

But instead of pushing him away—shouting at him, screaming at him . . . the woman clung to him tighter.

Lois didn't want to shout at him. She may have been angry at him, but that anger was nothing beside her own hurt, fear, and uncertainty. She didn't want him to fly away again and disappear. The very thought made her heart shrink within her with fear.

She didn't want him to leave her again.

She couldn't bear the thought of being alone.

"Why, Kal-El? Why did you leave me?" her voice broke, and her chin shook slightly as a single clear tear made a trail into the darkness of her hair. "You didn't even say _goodbye_!" Lois felt him wince in her embrace, and she put her arms even tighter around him. No. She wasn't going to let him go. Please, don't let him leave her again . . . "Wh-where have you been?"

Clark gently tried to step out of her embrace, but Lois's hold was like a vice. "Don't you dare," she hissed, her eyes shooting fire only inches from his even as the tears just began to dry. "I'm not letting you go until you talk. You've got that superhero look in your eye, but I'm not letting you fly away like this. _Look_ at me, Superman."

Clark obeyed hesitantly, though he certainly wanted to put some distance between himself and Lois. He couldn't think clear with her so close, looking at him with that protective, fiery glare.

It was the first time she'd really looked at him for weeks. She had just been too busy to look at Clark Smallville Kent. Clark looked away, feeling suddenly awkward, bumbling, and far too human for Lois Lane. He couldn't let her see that, or she might leave him.

_Please don't let her leave him . . . _

_He didn't want to be alone again. Never again_.

Clark took a deep breath that Lois was sure to notice from her proximity, but that was not to be helped.

"I'm sorry, Lois," Clark said in the very best Superman voice he could muster. "C-Clark needed help, and I didn't have time to explain."

He _couldn't_ gave explained it, then. It had taken enough work to get him to where he was, where he was at least _trying _to tell her.

"Stop that!" Lois said sharply, and actually stomped on his foot. It didn't hurt him, obviously, but it certainly made Clark blink and lean back slightly in surprise, and Lois moved with him like a starfish around a clam, not even flinching in the slight moment of unbalance.

"Wh-what?" Clark stuttered, regaining his full physical balance and pulling his arms away from her. He went still as he wondered if having his arms around her had bothered her, but quickly banished the thought—she certainly was making no move to pull away. He looked at her in pure confusion.

"The mask!" Lois said, her face only inches from his as she glared up at him like a panther at the bottom of a tree. "You were wearing that confounded superhero mask."

Clark stared at her, feeling completely thrown off balance. He swallowed.

"M-maybe you're wrong, L-lois," he said haltingly. "M-maybe you have the masks mixed up."

"Yeah, right," Lois said dryly, but her voice was softer now, and there was a note of tenderness in her tone as she looked up at him. "Because I just ripped that mask away again, Kal, and you're standing right here before me."

Clark agreed. He felt exposed at that moment, and knew that Lois saw right through him. But somehow it wasn't a completely unpleasant thought, even if it wasn't pleasant either.

It felt so good just to hold her. So good, even despite the nagging guilt and pain that he shouldn't be close to her—that he shouldn't be taking advantage of her like this, or putting her in danger…again. He tore his eyes away from her and stared at the dark alley behind her. He couldn't look at her.

"So why didn't you come back?" Lois asked suddenly, gentleness giving way to a sharp-edged tone and something even more painful to Clark—hurt. "That note, Kal-El…why didn't you just _talk_ to me?

Clark managed not to wince. He had to pull up part of his "mask" at least part of the way, or Lois was going to have him melted down into a puddle on the ground beneath her. "I…" He started to say "uh" and cut himself off sharply. No. He couldn't stutter. He took a deep, only slightly shaky breath and spoke, refusing to stutter or stumble over his words. He was _Superman_. He spoke slowly and softly, carefully pronouncing each word as if measuring it before giving it utterance. "I knew you wouldn't just let me go again, Lois, and my presence put you in danger. And . . . I needed time to . . . to think."

To think. To rest. To recover. To sit in the sun, and . . .

And wish he was back with her.

Looking back, he didn't need any of those things half so much as he needed _her._

But if she knew who he was— Clark Kent, idiot farm boy extraordinaire—she'd probably push him away. She would be embarrassed, humiliated . . . she would look at him with such disgust.

She was already so mad at him . . .

She was going to be so hurt.

He needed her, but was it right for him to force himself on her by burdening her with his secret?

She already carried so much. She was just as much this city's heroine as he was its hero, she just lacked the superpowers and the bright outfit.

Lois snorted. "If you haven't recognized yet from all the times you've rescued me, Superman, most of the times I get into trouble have nothing to do with you. So where have you been?"

Clark didn't answer immediately. "S-somewhere safe," he hedged, trying not to make it sound like hedging but, of course, failing.

"And that is so helpful, thank you very much," Lois said dryly.

She was killing him. His heart was going over 120, and he was sure that she could feel it, still wrapped around him like she was. He took yet another deep breath, and spoke in a deep, pure Superman tone. "Are you going to let me go now, Miss Lane?"

"No," was the sharp retort. "_Mr. Superman_," she added.

Clark shouldn't have been surprised, but he was, somewhat. He managed the faintest shadow of a wry smile. One thing was for sure—Lois was no longer stuttering and blinking in awe of him. That was long gone.

He looked at her hesitantly—as if half-afraid that he would completely lose all composure when his eyes traced her perfect face. Luckily, he was able to keep a thin string on his control as he tried to distance himself, and his brow furrowed slightly. Of course, he could easily pry her away, but he didn't want to risk hurting her, and somehow he felt that _that_ would be unforgivable. He swallowed, realizing he was beginning to shake again, and immediately took another deep breath and forced himself to still.

As much as Lois was killing him by her closeness right now, the thought of turning her against him right now was even worse. He tore his eyes away from her and looked upwards. It wasn't like he could leave her alone after that close call anyway. "Okay," he said, exhaling softly and slowly with the words. "Then I guess I'll just have to take you home." One arm went back around her shoulders and the other pointed to the sky as they left the ground.

Lois gasped and tightened her arms around him reflexively, though it was hardly necessary. Clark mused that if he were a human she'd be squeezing the breath right out of his lungs.

But he wasn't a human. He was an alien. He was different.

Even if—_when_ he told her, what could he expect in their relationship? How much could he _allow?_

How could he expect Lois to get in a relation with him—with either Superman _or_ Clark Kent? He didn't even know if they could have kids.

And Lois deserved the best. A normal life, with a husband that could put all of his concern towards her. A husband she wouldn't have to share with the world.

A husband that wasn't an alien. A husband she didn't have to worry about being caught and dissected like a frog.

_They were still looking for him_.

That was enough to put a cold bucket of water over him. He shivered slightly, and hoped that Lois wouldn't notice.

He didn't look at her, but was still aware of her. Her heart was beating against his, her breath warm against his neck as she ignored the city beneath them completely, her face turned up to watch him. Her arms relaxed their iron grip slightly, probably realizing that Superman wasn't going to dump her in mid-air.

He was flying. That enough was to raise his spirits. The air was calm, the sky was clear, and Clark felt a part of his heart slip back into place.

He was free.

They had caught him. They had taken away his freedom in the most terrible way. But he was free now. They couldn't touch him, way up here.

He was free.

He took a deep breath, leaning back to feel the wind brush across his face. Despite the lack of sunlight, the cool air itself was enough to send energy through his tired limbs.

_And Lois . . ._

Clark smiled.

He had always loved flying, but the best thing in the world was flying with Lois Lane.

So he took his time taking her home, and while he felt her eyes on him, he didn't look at her.

It was enough to hold her in his arms. He didn't know if he could keep a hold of himself if he looked at her again.

"How are you?" Lois asked softly, her voice a whisper as it was lost in the wind, but not to him.

Clark wondered briefly if he could get away with ignoring the answer, or pretending like he hadn't heard. Of course, that was one disadvantage of being an alien—a super-powered alien, at that—you didn't get to use those kind of excuses. Still, he didn't know exactly what to say.

"I'm fine," he replied, not looking at her, and feeling melancholy dampen his enthusiasm for flight.

He had to tell her.

Please don't let her leave him . . .

One of Lois's arms actually slipped out from around him, causing him to hold her closer automatically. He looked down involuntarily as Lois moved one of her arms and reached towards his right arm, which was pointed forward as he flew. She was able reach to his elbow, her fingers almost brushing the hidden, faded scar on his arm. Clark actually flinched despite himself, slowing in the sky as he pulled his arm away. He looked at her.

"Sorry," Lois said, her voice even softer, and she didn't meet his eyes as she pulled her arm back to herself as if hesitant to touch him. "Does it…still hurt?"

Yes. But she couldn't know how vulnerable he had been—how vulnerable he still was. He needed to be strong for her, but he couldn't bear the sight of her loving eyes on him when he was so much more familiar with a dismissive glance or exasperated look.

He tore his eyes away from her and started forward in the air again.

"S-sometimes. But . . . it's not bad, Lois. I'm . . . okay."

_It's not bad_. Not bad, though it had been ripped clean open to the air and torn into like a carcass among starving wolves. Not bad, though even the memory of the pain made his stomach clench and his fingers tremble . . .

Not bad, though it had stood out like a red, black, and blue mark of mortality and fear on his own flesh for weeks . . . for a lifetime . . .

A mark of slavery. Of captivity. Of vulnerability and helplessness.

Of fear.

Clark shuddered at the memories, but Lois brought him back. He was safe. He was free, up here, with her. It was gone. It was past. . .

Lois was strangely silent for the rest of the time, the side of her face buried in his chest but going surprisingly still once she wrapped her arms around him again.

He eased down onto the roof of her apartment slowly and looked down to find that her eyes were closed, but as he landed her arms gripped around him tightly again, but not so angrily as before—more like a child clinging to comfort after a nightmare—and her eyes opened slowly.

"Are…are you okay, Lois?" Her silence was concerning him.

Lois looked up to meet his eyes, but didn't pull her face away from his chest. "You're here," she said, the stars reflecting off her dark, soulful eyes. "For the first time in weeks, Kal-El, I think I'm okay, just for a moment."

Clark took a deep breath. He wasn't good at this. "Y-you can talk to me, you know, Lois."

_Lois, I'm Superman_.

_One moment. Just one more moment like this, holding her, being with her, before he ruined it all._

One more moment so precious that Clark wished he could hold it and cherish it away forever and never let it fade.

He didn't know what he was going to do if she rejected him.

Lois lowered her face, hiding in the bright colors of the suit. "I think I'm doing okay," she said, her voice very, very soft. "I mean, I'm kind of used to the whole being held hostage kind of thing, you know?" With another glance at his face, she gave a weak smile. "Okay, so I'm a wreck, and you know it. I guess that makes two of us, you and me."

Clark's words were serious. "I'm sorry, Lois."

"Don't make me stomp on your toe again," Lois threatened with a light in her eye as she looked up at him. "I thought I had you trained with the whole apologetic thing."

Clark smiled absently at that. She certainly never cared whenever Clark apologized to her. She never even noticed.

When he stayed quiet Lois stopped her teasing looked up at him.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"I said I was, Lois." He always said he was okay, and she always took his word for it, as Clark. But now . . .

"Then you lied," Lois said plainly. "You look tired. You said you were still hurting. Have you been getting enough sun?"

Clark shrugged. "It's been a bit cloudy."

Lois bit her lip. "You didn't sleep last night either, did you? You were out on the streets all night, weren't you?"

Clark looked at her. There was no way he could lie to her. "Yes."

A flash of satisfaction shot across Lois's face, but then she gave him a confused look. "Why were you hiding?"

Clark shifted. Lois was going into full-question mode, and he didn't want her to find out . . . not like this. "I . . . L-Lois . . . I have to go."

Lois still hadn't released him, and her arms tightened around him again. Of course he didn't want to tell her. He was scared, and was ashamed to admit it. Men were like that, and Superman worse than most.

"No," Lois said. "Not yet." She leaned forward against him again. "I don't care why, Kal-El. I trust you."

_Like she never trusted Clark Kent. _

Clark's heart ached at her complete faith in him. He held her and they stood there unmoving in the shadows of her living room. Clark shut his eyes, wanting to lose himself in her. To forget himself— Clark Kent and Superman alike—to forget the world, to forget the _universe_, and just have Lois Lane, holding him.

_Lois . . . _

"Lois—I'm sorry I lied to you," Clark said softly.

Lois didn't say anything, but brought her face up to look at him. Her eyes were soft. "I know, Kal. But I was there, remember? You can tell me everything. How are you, really?"

Clark took a deep breath. "A wreck," he said, trying for a lighter tone and giving her a wry grin.

Lois chuckled. "But be grateful for this, at least—we're not nearly as bad as Clark."

The moment shattered, and Clark fumbled with his smile clumsily before it he dropped it right onto the ground and lost it. "C-Clark?" he repeated with a blink.

"Yeah," Lois said, sounding a bit frustrated despite her somewhat amused tone. "He's has turned into a bumbling _mess_. I mean, he wasn't _too _bad before…still a hick from Smallville, but at least he had some potential—he just needed to be taken to the blacksmith and hammered a few times with some major heat, and he might have come through all right. I mean, his writing isn't half bad, and he used to not be too bad on the street either, I guess. But now…I think any heat would make the guy shatter. And he's driving _me_ crazy!"

Clark winced, his heart sinking. He felt a bit sick. "R-really?"

"Yeah," Lois said, leaning forward and resting her cheek against his chest as she let herself babble of her troubles to someone she could _trust_. She had locked everything up for so long, and she needed to talk to someone that could understand. Melinda was nice, but she just couldn't understand. Besides, Kal-El knew Clark, so he could relate. Clark Kent had run off on him too. "I mean, he _ran off_ on me today. He just left, without a word. And yesterday, while we were looking around for some…stuff for an article, something scared him and he grabbed me like a kid grabs a teddy bear, and he wouldn't let go. He froze up like a first-grader on stage of a school play, and he wouldn't snap out of it. And then he can't even say two words together without tripping over his tongue. He's _hopeless_."

Clark looked away from her. Shamed, guilt, and hurt showered down on him like frozen rain. The combination was not a stab to the heart, but more like someone was taking a small knife and peeling just an edge of his heart's surface and tugging on it—tearing it away slowly, layer by layer. In some ways it felt even worse than a direct stab.

Was he really so pitiful? He was trying to not give himself away around Lois, but he certainly wasn't _trying_ to act the part of a klutz so completely. He was actually trying to get back to normal, a bit, though apparently it wasn't working. His heart sunk further.

_What if Lois was right?_ he thought, dismayed. He had been trying to control his fear and his stuttering, but Clark Kent really was himself—a terrified, stuttering, completely unprotected and helpless version of his confused being.

Even with all of his control, it was taking almost his whole concentration to keep himself from breaking down into a quivering mass of stuttering apologies.

_I-I'm s-sorry . . . _

"I d-don't think you should judge him, L-Lois," Clark said very carefully, and still his voice shook.

Lois looked away, a faint stain coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she said, looking embarrassed and a bit ashamed at his soft words. "It just gets so frustrating, you know?"

"Y-yeah," Clark said softly, looking away from her. "I…I know."

They stood there in silence, still holding each other, but Clark's moment of bliss had passed. Things were not so simple as they had been in the white room. They couldn't just ignore their problems, the dangers, no matter what was doomed to happen to them.

And now he had not excuse not to tell her but for that sick, tired feeling and the black tar that had wrapped itself so firmly around his heart.

And for the first time in some days, Clark realized that he did _not_ want to tell Lois his secret right now.

How ironic, he thought. He had been trying for two days now, running around and trying to get a word in edgewise. Now that he had her full attention, though, he didn't feel like telling her.

He felt sick. He needed sunlight. And the world was calling for him.

A cry for help caught his ear, and he went still, realizing that Superman was truly completely back, and his duty was calling for him.

"I—I have to go, Lois," Clark said.

Lois's arms tightened around him again, and her heartbeat doubled in fear. "Kal-El . . . please promise me you won't leave me. Not like last time. Please."

Lois's voice had a desperate edge to it, and it struck Clark to the core.

"L-Lois . . . "

"Tomorrow," Lois said firmly, but her eyes were begging. "Tomorrow night, at seven. I'll have dinner . . . even if you don't _need _to eat, you said you liked it. And dessert? And we can, you know, play Boggle? Watch a movie?"

"I—I don't think I can make that promise, Lois . . . "

"I'll be waiting," Lois insisted. "I'll have it all waiting for you, and if you don't come . . . I'm expecting you, Kal-El."

_Please come_.

She didn't know what she would do if he didn't come.

Clark didn't look at her. "I—I'll try."

The screams. The cries for help. He had to go.

He had to go wash his hands of the blood of that man he had found. He had to go wash his hands of Lois's tears, of his own pain and cowardice, of all the pain in the world.

He had to go.

He pulled away from her, and felt suddenly as if the slightest wind might sweep him away and lose him in the endless sky.

"Goodbye, Lois," he said softly, and lifting a fist to the air, shot suddenly off into the darkness. A sonic boom sounded high overhead.

Lois's lips moved in a silent farewell.

_Goodbye. _

------------------------------

Lois stood there on the roof, her face upwards towards the stars as if moving might chase away the last remnant of the closeness of Superman's spirit. So she didn't move, not even an inch—perhaps in shock, or maybe just caught up in a dream she couldn't bare to let go of.

The night air was cold, though. She hadn't realized it, standing there with Kal-El. She hugged herself, shivering slightly.

He was always so warm.

_He was all right_.

She hadn't realized how much of a burden worrying about him had been. Before she had been cold and stiff—frozen, afraid that every wasted moment might cost him, or her, or both of them. Now, felt like frozen butter stuck in a microwave just long enough to become a pale yellow, soft solid floating thing amidst amber liquid warmth.

Granted she still worried about him, and she had plenty of questions.

_But he was alive. He was free_.

_He was back._

She could still feel his arms around her, like a ghostly shadow of warmth.

She wiped at the tears that had trailed from her eye without her noticing. She sniffled.

She shouldn't be crying. He was back. This was good. One of many things that were beginning to look good.

Even if she no longer had Lex fooled . . . he no longer had her fooled, either.

The masks were off for all three of them— Lois Lane, Superman, and Lex Luthor alike.

And she was going to see Kal-El tomorrow. She didn't allow her mind to consider the chance that he wouldn't come. He was too much of a gentleman to keep her waiting for him.

He _was._ He _would _be there.

It was a good half an hour later that she turned away from the sky at last and headed slowly down the stairs towards her apartment. She felt light as a feather—though whether that was from flying with Superman, or because of the sudden relief that fell over her, she didn't know.

For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel a shadow of dread mirroring her every step.

For the first time in weeks, panic and fear and doubt wasn't hounding every moment of her consciousness.

For the first moment in weeks, she wasn't alone.

She stepped down the hall, reaching absently into her purse to get her house key, and then she stopped.

Clark Kent.

He was standing there, right next to her door, his shoulders a bit hunched, and the expected chocolates and flowers in one hand. His other was held loosely at his side, rubbing against his pant leg in an absent manner as if to he was trying to rid himself of a spot of grease on his palm, or something.

Lois's eyes narrowed and she snapped to the present. She'd forgotten about him.

She didn't want to talk to him. Not right now. She wanted to lose herself in her recent time with Superman. She wanted to forget everything else.

She walked forward, striding forward surely and wondering if it would be possible to charge right into her apartment before Clark Kent even noticed her. No chance of that, though. As she came closer his head snapped up and he looked at her, his eyes widening behind his glasses and his face going a bit pale. He looked at her carefully, his eyes concerned under the flickering yellow lightbulb.

She needed to get that replaced.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, straightened a bit, and cleared his throat. Lois frowned at him, wondering if he had prepared a speech.

"Lois," he said, surprisingly not stuttering. "Can I—"

But she wasn't in the mood of that. She wanted to spend the evening with Superman—mentally, if she couldn't physically. Clark Kent was just getting in the way, and darn his cursedly readable and gentle eyes. "Talk to me, Kent? No. Not right now. Now if you'd _excuse_ me."

She pushed past him, and in surprising time had the door open and closed it right on his stunned face. Lois locked the door behind him, feeling pleasingly vindictive.

Served him right.

He had scared her to death and wasted hours of her day. He could feel a little pain himself. It might be good to teach him a lesson.

She turned away from the door, already forgetting about him as she turned towards her window. She stepped forward and unlocked it—a clear invitation, she hoped, if he decided to come back to night.

Just in case he came back.

She headed to her room and dropped her purse from where it had been hanging in the crook of her arm, and stepped out of her shoes absently on her way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She turned on the light and stared at herself in the mirror.

She was smiling. It wasn't a huge, broad, idiot grin . . . but it certainly was a smile.

It felt good to smile. She would have to do it more often.

As long as no one bugged her about it.

Lois took her time in the shower. She took her time getting out, and munched on a double-chocolate fudge bar even as she brushed and dried her hair.

Forty-five minutes later, comfortably warm and wrapped up in her pajamas and bathrobe, Lois went into her living room and sat down in front of the television and turned it on.

It didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for.

_Superman. _

There he was. Across the every news channel she flipped over, flying over the ruins of a flaming ship. It was a replay of earlier footage, and as she watched Superman carefully set down two coughing and water-logged men next to the crowd of waiting rescue workers, then flew back off and vanished into the dark and flame. The camera angle was bad, and the shot was poor and blurry in the dark, but it was clear it was him.

"Thanks to Superman, there were only seven injured, only two seriously, and every member of the crew got off the ship alive. However, Metropolis's own superhero didn't stay around to explain his disappearance or his sudden return."

The camera returned to the studio. "In fact, besides his appearance at the fuel explosion and a shoot out between the police and a getaway car, Superman has been notably absent even since his reappearance. The question of the city and the world awaits him: Where was he, and why?"

Lois had those exact same questions.

She sat back to watch and listen.

Superman only showed up for one more rescue the next hour—an attempted robbery, probably by some poor fools who hadn't heard of his return yet. Again, he didn't stay around to talk.

Lois watched the replays over and over. She watched the rehash over the speculations of where he had gone, the reactions of various city members, including the mayor, and then watched the replays again.

Finally satisfied for now, Lois turned off the TV and stifled the beginnings of a yawn. She stood in the sudden silence of her apartment and headed towards her bed, set on getting a good night's rest.

She had so much to do tomorrow, to get ready.

Superman was coming over.

Lois started to untie her bathrobe, but then stopped, turned around, and walked back to the front door and peered through the peephole.

She couldn't believe it.

He was still there.

Clark Kent was still there, standing across her room, slumped desolately, his head bowed, the flowers hanging mournfully in his hand.

Couldn't he take a hint? It was almost midnight!

How long had he been waiting out there, anyway?

Lois hesitated a moment longer. She still didn't want to talk to him. He needed a firm talking-to, and Lois just wasn't in the mood for that right now. She just wanted to go to sleep. She turned around, grabbed a small, paper-wrapped package from her purse and strode towards the door. She paused, taking a moment to set her jaw.

She undid the locks quickly and opened the door, but not enough to invite Clark Kent in. Clark's head lifted and his eyes lit up with hope.

How could just that little light make her heart jump? He was just so much like a little _kid_, even though he was a full-grown man!

"Didn't you get the message?" she said in the most neutral tone she could muster. "I don't want to talk to you tonight."

Clark looked like he wanted to fidget, and was only just keeping himself from doing so. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes and he looked at her through the panes of his glasses. "L-Lois . . . " he began, his voice shaking, but then stopped and swallowed before continuing carefully. "I'm sorry about what happened today."

"So am I," Lois said coolly. She looked down at the flowers and the chocolates he held. "I suppose you're asking an apology."

Clark ducked his head. "I am sorry Lois. But . . . I do have an explanation this time."

Lois rolled her eyes. "I don't want to hear it, Clark. Not tonight."

"But Lois—"

"Listen!" Lois interrupted sharply. "I am not mad at you, Clark. I am _furious_. Worse, I am _hurt. _So if you want me to try and forgive you, listen to _me _for a minute, okay? I'm trying. I'm working on it. But right now I'm tired, and I'm not feeling very rational, so your best bet is just—go. I'll see you on Monday, and by then I'll probably have forgotten it along with all your other explained and unexplained disappearances, okay?"

Clark winced and held out his peace offerings. After what he had heard from Lois some time before, he didn't know how much he wanted to tell her tonight, anyway. She took them, her expression unchanging. "I—I _am_ sorry, Lois."

"You always are," Lois said, looking at him closely, but if she were honest with herself it was more with investigative curiosity, now, than anger. _That's what's so strange. _He always was sorry, but he did it again and again and again.

_What was he apologizing for, exactly?_

Clark winced again and shuffled his feet. "Well . . . I guess I'll . . . see you. G-goodbye, Lois."

"Bye."

Clark took a breath and began to turn away.

" Kent!"

Lois tossed a small paper-bag wrapped parcel at him, half expecting him to drop it or have it hit him and bounce to the floor, but Clark turned sharply and actually managed to make a clean catch. Lois's eyebrows lifted. _Nice catch_.

"I tracked that down while you were off in La La Land, or wherever you go," Lois said, her voice cool. "I think it belongs to you. Good night."

She closed the door without waiting for a response.

Clark winced, staring at the door for a moment. He ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the package. He began to unwrap it slowly, willing to find out what it held the old-fashioned way rather than using his x-ray vision.

His pocketknife—the knife that his father had given him, years ago—slipped out of the wrappings and into Clark's hand.

While he had been off, sleeping, Lois had been tracking down the Primaries, stringing them up by their toes, and tracking down a simple, worthless pocketknife for her annoying partner.

Clark glanced back up at the door, puzzled once again by the character that made up Lois Lane.

Clark's hand closed over the knife, and he shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked at Lois's door and spoke three soft, heartfelt words.

"Thank you, Lois."

TBC . . .

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!


	38. The Guardian

Hello, everyone! Sorry this chapter is a day late--RL caught up with me for a while there, and I didn't even really start working on the chapter until yesterday . . .

So I hope this chapter is up to par nonetheless.

TCfan30--Welcome! As always, I can't believe it when people are able to read this whole massive piece of fanfiction in one day. If I can say so myself, it's not exactly a short, easy read anymore. Thank you so much for your review, and I'd love it if you made it tradition! ;)

Blah125--thanks as usual for the review! The revelation is . . . coming. I'm not saying anything else. :D

gonnabfamous07--He does indeed! Thanks for your review.

1truelove--I'm glad you liked how the last chapter ended. There's certainly some extremely contrasting emotions going on in here (especially in the last chapter). I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Thanks for your review.

Fondued Jicama--Why, hello! It's true that both Lois and Clark have some serious issues to talk out. It's wonderful to hear from you.

Divamercury--thanks as usual for your review! I'm glad you loved the last chapter, and I hope you like this one as well!

Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 38: The Guardian

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Clark had stood there outside Lois's door for a long moment, caught up in a wind that had caught him in a spinning confusion of emotion.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel. He didn't know what to _do. _

How was it possible that a single woman could be so cold, yet so gentle? So inconsiderate, and yet so caring? So downright rude, and yet so understanding?

She just didn't make any sense.

He loved her, but at times she seemed to downright _loathe_ half of him—the half of him that was _him_.

He didn't want to be Superman, the Alien. He just didn't think of himself that way, even if Lois claimed that she could see the person—the _human_ underneath.

Lois. She loved Superman so much, but after hearing her rant Clark had to admit that Lois did indeed have a point. In her eyes, he really was a cowardly, bumbling, stuttering, and irresponsible hick from Smallville. And as of late, had he given her any reason to think otherwise?

And wasn't that the worst thing of all? If once Lois found out, she realized that the real him—the whole him—was just too annoying to put up with?

But the pocketknife . . .

His eyes went down to it and he traced the worn pattern on the carved handle.

She had found it for him. She had contacted the Primaries, and had probably taken McPheron by the throat and shaken him until he had begged mercy and gone out to find it himself.

But what was it supposed to mean? Was this just the beautiful, lovely, kindly angel peeking through a crack in the fortifications around Lois Lane's being? Would she have done this for anyone? Or did she actually care enough to get the knife back for _Clark Kent_?

He didn't know. Considering her fiery wrath, the thought that she would do _anything_ for Clark Kent after he had disappeared on her yet again was astounding. So confusing. Sounreasonable . . .

So _Lois_.

He had turned away at last, pocketing the knife. He took the stairs slowly and climbed up to the rooftop where he had left Lois some hours before as he had rushed off to his first rescue as Superman for almost a month. He closed the door behind him and looked up to the sky, not moving as the cool but still air brushed gently against him.

The sky was yet clear, though the eastern air from over the bay carried the blue scent of coming rain. Clark breathed in deeply, simply enjoying _feeling. _

He had flown.

He had flown to Lois. He had flown with Lois.

He had landed and taken off a number of times since then, even with only the three rescues he'd helped with that night . . . but every time he looked up to the sky and the distantly twinkling stars he was afraid that when he tried to reach them . . . he wouldn't be able to. That his feet would stay grounded.

The thought scared him so much that he was loathe to land time after time, for fear that he wouldn't be able to break away into that true freedom once again.

Clark spun into the suit. He looked up into the sky again, and with a moment's hesitation more, he took a deep breath and stepped out of gravity's grasp and into the gentle air. It greeted, him, the almost-unnoticeable wind currents brush against his skin like hands welcoming him home—welcoming him back to the freedom which was meant to be his. He turned his face to the stars, letting himself drift upwards rather than drive himself forward through the perfect black air which sat silent like a flawless, serene, eternal river. He rose up, the world shrinking beneath him as he slowly picked up speed—faster, faster, until the wind slicked his hair back and the deep thunder of a sonic boom broke out behind him. He smiled.

He'd been scared to death the first time that had happened, and had gone to such a complete stop even he had almost gotten whiplash.

Metropolis faded into the eastern shore, which faded into America, which faded into the world.

It was such a beautiful world, he marveled. So large, so open and diverse—so expansive. He slowed slightly, letting the babble of the flowing brook of humanity glide through his ears, and through him.

The sound of life. The sound of love, of hope, of joy. Of _being_.

But then there was the noise of pain. The noise of fear. The fire of guns and war and desperation. Of mothers crying over their children, of children crying for lost parents. Of hate, of confusion, of despair.

_Why? _

Trying to shake the sounds from his being, Clark drifted higher, floating out of earth's atmosphere into the perfect silence of the vacuum of space. It was black there. Empty. The world sat beneath him, appearing almost lifeless as it floated there in the endless void of nothingness. He hovered there for a moment, directionless, then shivered at the cold he could almost feel.

The silence was a thousand times more thunderous and chilling than even those countless pitiful cries for help. For in those cries there was life. There was hope, if only the vestiges of it clinging to despair.

With those cries he was never alone.

He dove back down, the sound barrier cracking behind him again as he shot as blue lightning into the heavens down back to Earth. Thunder shook the air behind him as he shot between the buildings of Metropolis.

There was no hiding anymore, and there was always something for Superman to do.

Two car chases, a bank robbery, three break-ins, two shoot-outs, one attempted suicide, and a house fire later—from everywhere to San Diego to Gotham—Superman flew into Metropolis, alert as he followed the sounds that called for his help.

There was so much, he thought as he shot towards the next cry for help. He couldn't remember it ever being this bad. Had it gotten worse, or had he just forgotten after the long silence of "normal" hearing—during the long space of inactivity? There were too many—far too many for him to deal with, and he found himself having to listen first to see which ones may need his help the most. Others, he just had to leave and hope that the authorities could handle the situation so no one got hurt.

Gunshots nearby signaled his next course of action. He shot down to a jewelry store, taking quick assessment of the bullets flying between police and the black-garbed man hunkered in the darkness of the building.

Superman angled down, x-raying quickly to get a picture of the whole situation. With a last burst of speed, he dove downwards, catching the four bullets that were hovering in the air as he swept past. The window to the store was already broken, so foregoing the door Superman flashed inside, slowing only enough so the glass fragments wouldn't get caught in his current of air and become deadly projectiles. He stopped abruptly, landing on his feet as his cape caught on the wind he had created and billowed out behind him.

The robber blinked and glanced back at the sudden and strange wind, and his eyes widened behind his ski mask as he brought his gun around.

Clark flinched, but caught himself fast enough that he didn't move, not even a change in his expression.

The gun went off, and then again. The bullets flew slowly towards him, and he watched them as they almost seemed to drift, spinning lazily in the molasses air as the sleek metal lulled towards him. They weren't dangerous to him, he reminded himself as the world slowed to stillness around him. Not now. He could let them hit him, and he wouldn't feel a thing, even if they both hit him right over the heart.

They wouldn't hurt him. He was invulnerable. He was Superman.

At the last millisecond, Clark reached up and snatched the two bullets out of the air before they could hit the s-shield of his suit. He pressed all of the bullets he had caught together into a misshapen ball and let it fall to the ground with a heavy _clunk_.

His stare was dark and completely cold as he looked at the crook, and it was enough to make the man tremble and actually drop his gun from a shaking hand.

"P-please . . . " the robber stuttered, clearly terrified for his life.

Superman stepped forward and took him by the arm, and without a word lifted him and flew over to drop him none-to-gently next to the cop cars and the four officers there.

"Here you go, officers," Superman said simply. The cops stared at him for a second before two of them stepped forward and took the crook in hand. Superman turned around, took a deep breath as he looked towards the stars, and then carefully stepped into the air.

"Superman!"

Superman stopped, both feet hovering only inches above the ground. He had flown off the from the other rescues so far without a word more than necessary, but this was a familiar voice. His feet touched ground again and he turned slowly.

" Henderson."

The hardened police chief jogged towards him. He stopped a respectful distance away, but in the light of the cars and the streetlights he could see the superhero's face well enough.

"Welcome back."

"Thank you."

The officer frowned at him. "Where have you been?"

Clark hesitated. His eyes went to the would-be robber, who was now being thoroughly searched for any extra weapons. "I'd rather not say right now," he said.

Henderson grunted and puffed out a breath of air. "Well, you're going to have to come up with something. That may be enough for me and my men, but some people have gone mad, and—"

Suddenly, one of the officers searching the crook straightened, cautiously drawing from the man's pocket a short, thin, sickly-green colored crystal.

Rational thought fled. Clark staggered back, bumping into one of the police cars and sending it a good two feet backwards. The side window shattered as the door bent in from the force.

"Get rid of that!" Henderson thundered at the pale young officer who was now frozen, the green stone stiff in his hand. Henderson lunged forward to grab it from the stunned officer and hurled it away—it spun through the black air, catching the dim flickerings of lampposts and some distant stars, and then shattered into a million glittering pieces on the cement.

Turning away from it, the officers' attentions all turned to Superman, who was now standing and brushing shattered glass from his hair and suit, and wasn't looking at any of them.

Henderson swore, coming forward. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

Clark swallowed, hiding the shaking of his hands by continuing to brush the fragments of glass from his cape. "Yes," he said, his voice as steady as he could make it, despite the scare.

Henderson swore again. "We had heard that this stuff—this _kryptonite—_could hurt you, but we never actually believed." He turned and barked, "You men! Get that contained and put away for analysis. I don't want a single speck of dust left behind, understand?" He looked back to the superhero.

It was dark, so the hardened police chief may have imagined the slight flush of embarrassment and shame that crept over Superman's pale-colored face.

"I really am all right," he said, looking up at last. "That . . . that wasn't—_isn't—_kryptonite."

Henderson frowned at him, recognizing the honesty of his tone. "But then why . . . ?" His sentence trailed off and he stopped, looking at the superhero with a new light of realization in his eye. "You _thought_ it was kryptonite."

Clark didn't like that look. It went beyond the curiosity, and came close to concern—to a realization that Superman wasn't the untouchable alien that he pretended to be. It came too close to the formation of thoughts of where the superhero had been all this time, and why he had reacted so suddenly and fearfully about the sight of a simple green piece of glass that had been nothing more than just that—glass.

He was just about ready to make an excuse to leave when Henderson spoke again. "Then you should know, Superman," he said slowly. "The whole city's been caught up in this kryptonite rage. It's gone out of control. Practically every crook brought in has some sort of green stone or glass—or maybe they're just wearing green to try and keep you away. One way or another, even _we_ don't know what we're looking for."

Superman gave a slightly wry smile. "A little green is not going to hurt me, Henderson."

Except when it was there, before him, filling his eyes with memories.

Except when it was backed with that terrible blinding white of pain and fear, where the color of hope and life was twisted into sickness and agony.

"Superman?"

Clark was shaken out of his thoughts by Henderson, who was again looking at him closely.

Too closely. It was past time for him to go. He should never have stayed.

"Your arm all right?"

He realized he had been holding it in a shaking grip and let go abruptly.

"It's fine," he said, taking a step away and looking up to the sky.

"One minute," Henderson said. He glanced back at his men, who where busy setting up tape around the crime scene and dealing with the small crowd of late-nighters gathering at the perimeter—more than one to see Superman rather than the scene itself. The police chief leaned in. "Superman, have you talked to Lane yet?"

Clark frowned at the unexpected question, and his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"She's been in contact with an organization called the Primaries." Clark looked at him sharply, feeling a chill. "They came to me some weeks back, asking me to join up with them, seeing as I had talked to you more than most." He paused, glancing up to make sure no one had come close enough to hear. "I turned them down."

Clark didn't answer, but just waited.

"I don't want to be strung down to any such group—good cause or no," Henderson continued, "and I wasn't about to spy on you for them, either. I don't know enough to say whether you can trust them or not, but one way or another they want me to tell you that they have something of yours."

Superman nodded. "Thank you," he said. He glanced back at the now rapidly growing crowd, many of whom were trying to press forward as they called for him. "I should go."

Henderson nodded. "Good to have you back, Superman," he said. There was a pause. "Be careful."

It was the first time anyone had ever told him to be careful while he was in the suit, besides his mom and dad. Not knowing what exactly to say to that, Clark just nodded before shooting off into the air.

He arced upwards and flew between the skyscrapers and reaching buildings, but took the flight slow enough that he had time to slow his heart rate and fill his tightened lungs with air again. Excited voices called out as they caught sight of him from the street below, shouting out his name as he passed. Clark gave a small wave in return.

It really was good to be back.

A few minutes later he was hovering over the silent warehouse where Lois and he had found the Primaries.

His ship still sat there, tarp-covered and apparently untouched since he had last seen it. A quick scan showed nothing, but he heard two distinct heartbeats inside, and found no less than fourteen cameras fixed on the spaceship's location from various crooks and crannies.

Clark hesitated. Should risk trying to take it now? But what risk was he taking if he decided to leave it there a while longer? The thought of losing it again—of never getting the answers he needed—was a horrible thought.

_More horrible than the white room? More horrible than risking being caught again?_

Clark shuddered. No. Perhaps not. But he couldn't let that stop him, again and again. He had to keep going, as if Bureau 39 had never happened.

He would be more careful, but he couldn't let it stop him.

With that thought, in a matter of seconds he had narrowed in on the cameras and shot through the connecting wires—nothing too hard to fix, just in case these men were, after all, on his side. A quick but thorough scan showed no suspicious lead-lined containers or other places where kryptonite could be hid, and without pausing another second, he darted down as fast as he could.

The air rushed past him, and for the first time in a long while he felt a thrill of danger from flying as he blurred towards the rooftop. What would happen to him if there _was_ kryptonite? Before, he had crashed into a wall and effectively incapacitated himself. Flying like this, though—if he were to lose his abilities so suddenly, he would be crashing more than through roof or even floor. He'd be lucky if he survived the landing alive.

Or unlucky.

Clark's lips tightened and his eyes narrowed as he thrust those dark thoughts away.

The ship filled his vision. His forward-thrust hands pressed upon its warm exterior. He slowed enough to lift it onto his shoulders without touching his feet to the rooftop, and then shot off again—darting upwards, upwards, upwards, like a child who had finally found the bravery to draw close to the line of terror, only to dart of suddenly as the dare is completed. His heart pounded in his ears, and his clammy hands slipped slightly on the smooth hull of the craft he held, forcing himself to slow and adjust his grip. He looked down and was surprised to find that he was already nearing the end of the Earth's atmosphere in his haste to distance himself from the possible danger.

He stopped, hovering high above the clouds and shifting the weight of the ship a bit awkwardly due to its ungraceful bulk in his arms.

Now what?

Okay, so he had his ship. It wasn't like he could take it to his apartment, or hide it in a closet like he did the globe.

The thought crossed his mind that he could take it to Smallville, but he dismissed it as soon as it came. They had found it there once, and he didn't want any more attention drawn towards his home.

He didn't want anyone to find it, that was for sure, and if anyone _did _find it he didn't want the least connection to Clark Kent or Smallville.

With that last thought, his eyes turned north, and in a moment his flight direction followed.

North. A cold, inhuman place. A place where even the hardiest of creatures struggled to survive. A place where it was unlikely that anyone would be searching for Superman's spaceship, let alone actually be able to find it.

The earth passed away to water, and that to empty whiteness. The sound of humanity faded into the distance, and the cold air was still.

Air so cold that, had he been human, he would have quickly frozen to death, dressed as he was. It was almost as cold as space, or perhaps even more so with the icy fingers of air that turned the endless snow to ever-shifting mounds of perfect white sand dunes, which were now bathed in the pale light from the clouds which covered the face of the unsetting sun.

Superman slowed his flight, looking around the desert landscape as he descended. A moment later he landed on an icy glacier where he set the ship down carefully before straightening to look at it.

His ship. His spaceship. The last of advanced alien technology, even as he was the last of aliens. They had escaped together, and here they were at last—brought together again.

He ran his hands over the smooth hull, then carefully opened the ship to peer down at the small capsule that had carried him over the billions of miles from his home world.

His hands traced the pattern around the edge of the small seat that had held him. Was it just a decoration, or some sort of language? He didn't know.

"I would like to know, Jor-El," he said, softly yet firmly, and his voice sounded lonely and cold in the white air. "Why did you send me here? You showed me the danger to Krypton, but what else did you hope to do? To hide me away to die alone? You must have something else for me. You must!"

There must be answers. Clark couldn't bear not knowing.

The ship was cold, silent. He sat there, still staring at the patterns around the metal shell, running his finger along the rim as he knelt down in the snow—the only alien on earth kneeling by a tiny little spaceship that had taken him there, years and years before.

Then, a faint wink of a light. He thought he had imagined it at first, or maybe that it had been a snowflake vanishing into the warmth of his skin—but no. It was a light. A faint, dim light that flashed beneath his hand; a single symbol of the designs was glowing. It looked like a figure eight, but enclosed in a shield much like his "S." He ran his finger lightly over it.

"Is there more for me here?" he whispered.

The capsule responded to his touch. It didn't light up any more. It didn't hum to life as he had hoped. Instead, there was a hissing sound and the little seat in which he had sat so many years before lifted slightly, like a pressurized lock being undone.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, and then took hold of the new edge with his fingers and pulled upwards to reveal the hidden compartment underneath.

A green glow bathed his face, and instinctively he flinched back from the green glow of the crystal—taking flight in pure horror of the light.

He was half a mile above his ship when he was able to drag himself to a stop, quivering in his boots as he turned to look down with vision far better than any eagle's. He could see it from here—a green crystal in the shadow of his ship. It was probably a little longer than his hand—but perfectly shaped rather than the malformed lumps that he had had the misfortune to come in contact with.

Why, why, _why_ would Jor-El—his father—send _kryptonite_ in his ship with him?

But wait. As the panic began to release his heart from his freezing grip he frowned, hovering. He had felt no pain, in the bare second that he had been in the presence of this crystal. He had felt no mind-numbing agony or that cursed weakness, which dragged at his very soul as if trying to tear it apart. No. He had felt nothing.

But this wasn't just colored glass, like the fake kryptonite from earlier. No. This was from Krypton—and it glowed, even like kryptonite.

But it didn't seem to hurt him.

He hesitantly began making his way down, landing a fair distance away from the ship and settling knee-deep into the snow. Frowning at the not-cold but not-so-comfortable feeling of snow sliding between his tights and boots, he hovered slightly, just above the snow as if he were walking on top of it.

He edged forward slowly. The green glow of the crystal seemed to sense his presence and pulsed brighter. He edged forward like a wolf around a trap he knew was just waiting to be set off by the slightest misstep, slowly, ever so hesitantly. Before he knew it he was hovering above his ship again, his face alight with the green—painless—glow of his home.

_Was _thiskryptonite He reached down, still hesitant despite the lack of pain thus far, and brushed his fingers against it. The crystal was surprisingly warm, like a living thing, pulsing gently. He lifted it carefully, as if afraid of being burned

He held it up, turning it over in his fingers. It was beautiful—made of crystalline angles and a deep, beautiful green that was still eerily close to the kryptonite that plagued his dreams at night. But what _was_ it?

"What do I do now?" he asked the ship. Then laughed softly. Superman, talking to a spaceship. People would probably be either awed or afraid that he had gone mad.

But to his surprise something did happen. The crystal in his hand glowed to a blinding brightness and flashed hot suddenly—still not the searing, terrible burning of kryptonite, but hot enough that he dropped it in surprise and leaped back.

The crystal sank, melting into the snow about it and out of sight. He watched it with his x-ray vision, watching it sink deeper and deeper into the snow, through the ice, and smaller and smaller as it grew farther away, but then, somehow, bigger and bigger in his eyes…

The ground started to shake. A great chasm broke through the ice beneath him, and Superman sped to catch his ship and lift it before it fell into the great divide, from which was emerging…

Crystals?

Sharp, clear crystals white as the snow about jutted out of the snow, forcing Superman to lift his ship higher so as not to be struck by the growing massive juts of white. They grew out at angles, sprouting up like living plants out of the barren land, and Superman stood back, watching in amazement as something began to take form out of the nothingness—out of that green seed from his ship. An ice castle. A fortress—beautiful, majestic, powerful, and delicate at the same time.

A name from his childhood tree house came to him as he stared. The Fortress of Solitude. The name might as well have been created for it.

The fortress took full form and the earth stilled, but still Superman hovered in the now silent air, which seemed even more still after the cracking and ripping of ice and crystal.

What in the world? Or, rather, what _out _of the world?

He descended, landing outside rather than inside, and set his ship down carefully before staring between the angled crystals. The centers of the crystals seemed to glow—as if catching the sunlight from without and diffusing in a hundred times magnified through the crystalline structure. But it was enough that he wondered if the crystals themselves were not giving out at least part of that brilliant glow.

Steps, rises, and walkways rose upwards out of the icy cavern, all carved as if by nature's hand. He climbed upwards towards a dais, looking around at the large room, awed, excited, and more than a little uncertain.

He was Clark Kent. What in the world was he doing here? He didn't belong here. This was beyond him, his life, his person . . .

But he was Superman. No. He was Kal-El. This was his heritage. This was meant for him.

"Hello?" he called, then immediately felt quite foolish as his voice echoed a dozen times throughout the large space. There was no answer. It seemed, for all its beauty, the fortress was dead, too—just a cold, frozen memorial of a people long dead. His people.

He really was the last.

He looked around, feeling like a stranger intruding in a sacred place. It felt so…_alien_. There was no other word for it, and he wasn't comfortable with that at all.

He took one more step forward on the dais, and suddenly a light seemed to increase before him, and in the crystals across the room a face appeared. His father. Jor-El.

"Kal-El, my son. It is I—Jor-El."

Clark fell still, his whole being attentive to the image before him.

"If your arrival on Earth proceeded according to plan, you have known of your Krypton heritage since the year of your ninth-Earthly birthday, approximately six years after you arrival to that planet. Now you should be nearly grown—a young man approaching manhood, and this fortress is designed to guide you on that journey—to your destiny."

Crystals seemed to sprout out on the dais before him, and Clark stepped back quickly as what looked like some sort of control panel rose up before him. "We have recorded the knowledge of the 38 known galaxies in the crystals before you," his father continued, heedless of his son's thoughts—of course. He was dead. This was like a film, a movie—a last recording, like the globe was. "For the next eight years of your life you will learn from them. And then you will be ready."

Ready? Ready for what? And destiny? What end had his father meant him for?

_To rule over them, but never as a tyrant. _That was what the globe had said, anyway. But how literal had his father meant it?

Clark shook his head. The idea wasn't even chilling to him—it was just laughable, in a grim sort of way. He had no desire or right to rule over Earth—as a tyrant or otherwise. Technically, he couldn't even run for president.

Besides, he was Clark Kent. He didn't _want_ to rule over anybody.

He crossed his arms as if against the cold, though the air was strangely warm in the fortress and it wouldn't have touched him even if it hadn't been.

He was twenty-seven years old. Not a young man at all. Not an old man, certainly, but beyond the age that could be described as "young man approaching manhood."

What would have happened to him, if he had found this earlier? Could he have stayed away from the world—from humanity for so long? What would have become of him?

He would have been all the more an alien. Would Superman have come to be? What had his father—this lost people of his—wanted him to become?

Would he have become this ruler that Jor-El spoke of?

What would have happened to Clark Kent? Would he have ceased to be, replaced instead by Kal-El of Krypton, the last of his kind?

"Kal-El. My son. Speak."

Clark shook himself and frowned at his father. He waited. The image waited. He shifted. The image still waited. Clark cleared his throat. Surely it didn't actually want an _answer. _

"Can you…hear me?" he asked at last. The globe may not have responded to any attempt at two-way communicating, but this was bigger.

Much bigger.

"The crystals before you hold more than just information. They hold the memory of Krypton. The memory of my life, and your mother's. Our spirits are here with you, Kal-El, my son. You will never be alone."

Had Jor-El, his father—an alien, like him—understood what it meant to be truly alone? Somehow, Clark doubted it.

But it . . . he . . . had answered him. It must be some sort of advanced alien artificial intelligence, then.

And it was there. The crystals held information—the knowledge of galaxy after galaxy . . .

Such information was valuable beyond measure, beyond price.

The crystals held the answers.

For him.

Stepping forward slowly, Clark looked up at the face of Jor-El, questions that had once had no answer gathering in a host in his mind.

He took a deep breath, and then began.

TBC . . .

Please remember to review!


	39. Always Watching Over You

Eek! So I don't have time to review to your reviews right now, but I'm posting a day early for this chapter, so I hope that makes up for it. Let me reassure you that I do most certainly read and re-read your reviews many times throughout the week, and that they encourage me and inspire me . . . So please continue to review if you have been, and if you haven't . . . make it a habit! ;)

I hope you enjoy,

Disclaimer: If you don't realize it, the passage taken from _The Scarlet Pimpernel _is not mine. It is from (obviously) _The Scarlet Pimpernel. _I have no rights to it, and am making no money using it. There. Is that satisfactory enough? looks around for lurking lawyers . Good.

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Chapter 39: Always Watching Over You

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Lois didn't set her alarm clock, but intended to sleep in as long as she could—preferably very, very late into the morning. The many late and restless nights had taken a toll on her, and now that she knew Superman was back and well enough, considering, she wanted few things more than to just sleep.

Her good intentions, however, were interrupted by one of her cursed nightmares. At 6:30 she rolled out of bed in a tangle of sheets, shaking as she rose to her feet and brushed her hair from her eyes with a clammy hand.

She walked carefully to the bathroom, turning on the light against the darkness that had taken over her apartment. Outside dark, threatening clouds had shut out the sky, and now hid the rising sun behind what seemed like continuing night. Thunder echoed in the distance.

Lois washed her face and looked at her pale reflection in the mirror.

"All right, Lane," she said firmly to herself, though her voice shook. "S-snap out of it. It's j-just a dream. It's always just a dream, now. K-Kal was here last night. R-remember?" Yes, he _had_ been. She was sure that _that_, at least, had not been a dream. He had saved her, and flown her home. He was coming back tonight. "See? It's just a dream. Everything's fine." She wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath.

She had unconsciously brought Superman's cape with her from her room, and now she wrapped it around herself as she moved into the living room to turn up the thermostat. She turned on the TV as she fixed herself some coffee.

"Counts are coming in all around the world. Dozens of Superman sightings are flowing in from as far as Seoul to as close as downtown Metropolis. The rescue spree seems to have started early this morning, and Superman doesn't seem to be slowing down for more than a word and a wave."

Lois turned down the volume and grabbed her laptop, snatching her laptop and getting into the internet. In a moment she had typed in the familiar address of and the homepage popped up, bearing a massive, strong, and highly attractive close-up shot of Superman from a rescue from some time ago.

Blazing across the top of the page were the letters "SUPERMAN RETURNS," and beneath that "Back to Earth, Back to Work." There was no prying article as might be expected, but instead beneath that there was a small counting box.

"Rescues (For the last 24 hours):

117 reported and catalogued.

Lives saved: approximately 54.

Last updated: Sunday, 6:00 ET."

Lois scrolled down the page. On the right side of the page was a _very_ long sidebar listing the known Superman rescues since his reappearance. Lois scanned down quickly but thoroughly.

His first rescue of the night—saving Lois Lane from a bunch of Lex Luthor's thugs at about 8:30 pm—was, of course, missing. There were the three rescues Lois had seen from the night before, and then at about midnight Superman had gone on a rescue spree until 1:34, when he was sighted in Metropolis at an attempted jewelry robbery.

After that, he had disappeared for three entire hours.

Not a single sighting or rescue. Not a single flash of red cape or boots.

Lois nodded to herself in satisfaction. She hoped the man had taken the time to get some sleep in the sunlight. He had looked tired, and he was going to work himself to death if he kept this up.

His next recorded sighting had been just before five, and apparently he hadn't stopped since.

Lois clicked on some random articles, finding a number of blurred pictures from various rescues during the night. Over on the television replay after replay was being shown, but was broken by live footage from an apartment fire in Boston. Superman was flying down from the brightly burning building, carrying in his arms a mother and two small children whom he set down gently and gave them a small smile before he paused, tilted his head as if hearing something darted back upwards.

Lois's laptop was forgotten as she saw him shoot through a flaming window again. Her heart stopped as he disappeared to her view, and suddenly she felt as if the room had gone cold.

What if his powers gave out for some reason? What if Lex planted kryptonite somewhere, knowing that Superman was too good to resist going to rescue, no matter the danger to himself? What if he was hurt?

What if he _died?_

The minute stretched out. Lois felt as if her heart had stopped beating, and the taste of her coffee was ash in her suddenly dry mouth.

_Superman. Superman . . . _

On the television screen the apartment's upper floors seemed to explode, and even with the volume on low Lois flinched at the sound and sight of the furious flames.

And then, there he was.

He darted out of the flames and downward, his hair and suit smoking from the heat and flames, and his face smudged, but he actually grinned as he landed and unwrapped his cape from the burden he was carrying to reveal . . .

_A cat?_

Lois collapsed back in her chair with a shaky laugh as she watched the superhero hand the clearly terrified but safe cat to a young boy about the age of seven..

"Oh, Kal-El," she let out a long breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

But he was safe. Kryptonite was a rare substance—surely Luthor wouldn't risk losing a part of it in a plan that was not one hundred percent sure of working . . .

Lois frowned. Her attempt at thinking "comforting" thoughts was failing miserably. She shook her head.

He'd be all right. That was all. He would just _have _to be. He had always been all right before, after all.

_Had he?_ In the white room he had avoided the question, but she remembered him hesitating about telling her, now.

_He had been exposed to kryptonite before_.

But how?

Lois shut down her computer and rose, putting her cup in the sink and glancing back at the television, where Superman was rising into the air with a small wave before he shot off and disappeared.

Lois smiled to herself. She loved that wave. It was so sweet. So simple.

Well, he _looked_ like he was doing better—or at least like he was succeeding in hiding most of his tiredness behind that mask of his, which was well and good for now. Later, though, he'd better take it right back off or Lois would have to do it for him.

Now it was time for her to get ready.

Lois looked around the wreck of her apartment, realizing for the first time what a mess it had become. Papers were stacked, scattered, and tossed around almost haphazardly over the floor, the counters, and the furniture. Dirty dishes were piled high, and her garbage can was overflowing next to a bag of trash that she just hadn't had the time to take out yet.

Lois grimaced. She might be disorganized, but she usually wasn't this plain _filthy_. This was just awful, now that she took the time to notice it. She had just been too caught up with everything to notice, let alone do anything about it.

Taking an armful of empty take-out containers from where they were stacked by her sink, Lois stuffed them into the already filled garbage can. She lifted that and the garbage sack and shuffled towards the door beneath the combined weight and bulkiness.

Superman might be busy cleaning up the world, but for now Lois Lane had a job of her own to do. She had to get her apartment ready for Kal-El to come.

After struggling through her door, the elevator, and finally out to the dumpster next to the complex, Lois dumped the trash inside and brushed her hands together in satisfaction.

It was time to get to work.

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It was a good thing she _had_ woken up so early, Lois realized seven hours later as she unloaded the last clean dish from the fourth full load of dishes from her sink. Why did she even _have_ so many dishes, anyway? It wasn't like she had company over very often, after all.

But as she turned around and viewed her pristine and spotless apartment it was with no little pride. No doubt it would have taken an average woman twice as long to clean up a mess. Everything was clean—even under the couch and the ancient untouched crevice beneath her bed. Of course, she expected Kal-El wouldn't intentionally use his x-ray vision to look under such places, but there was no harm in being prepared.

She had done more than just cleaning, however. A not-so-short trip to the furniture outlet and Lois was having a new couch delivered any minute now (she had had to bribe the drivers for them to put her at the top of the list)—something comfortable and homey, rather than the uncomfortable piece of stuffing, wood, and cloth that sat in front of her television, which hadn't been turned off for a second all morning, even when she left her apartment to go to the store.

She hadn't tuned out for a minute. She'd been with him when he rushed into the mine collapse disaster in Brazil. She'd felt her heart break when the screen had shown him easing the broken body of a man who hadn't survived a terrible highway car crash in Washington. She'd flinched every time she saw a bullet hit him, no matter that it couldn't hurt him.

How could he do it? How could he go out there, after everything he'd been through, and still smile? Still help? Still be able to face the sort of men who would do anything if only they could hurt him? How could he still give that small but encouraging smile of his that made the most terrified looking adults and children alike settle down and breathe of life and hope again? Oh, Lois had seen the smile hesitate and shake more than once before appearing, and it had made her heart wrench, but somehow that only made the actual appearance of it all the more powerful.

The world didn't know how strong Kal-El Superman of Krypton really was. They knew he could lift rockets into space and catch flying bullets without flinching, but they didn't have a clue of the strength of his spirit.

A little over two weeks, that was all. A little over two weeks since he had been hovering between life and death. Since he had shrank and shivered under the white light. Since that terrible piercing green glow of kryptonite had caused him the sort of pain that no man should have to face. Two weeks since he had looked at her from those dark, soulful eyes and told her to let him go and move on with her life.

_Fat chance, Krypton_, Lois thought.

Just over two weeks since he had stopped breathing on that terrible cold metal bed. Two weeks since Lois's own heart had almost died along with him.

Lois looked around her now clean apartment. Had it already been that long? It felt like yesterday. At times she felt that if she closed her eyes for even a moment she would open them to that terrible white despair.

Had it really been only two weeks? Had she really only spent a little over two weeks buried in this story—driving herself to her very core in her efforts to figure out the five reporter's questions—who, what, where, when, _why_?

She still didn't know very many answers, but she knew Superman was safe. With him she could do anything. Together they could get through anything. They had already proved that to Logram, to Lex—to the world.

They could get through this.

Rain rattled the window panes and Lois looked upwards and frowned. The weather had been shifting between a faint, mist-like, gloomy sprinkle and a torrential downpour intermittently since mid-morning, and the storm was still thick and dark, as if the clouds had lumbered over Metropolis and just found that they didn't have any energy to go any farther, so they just hunkered over the tall buildings and sat their great weight over the whole city.

At least Superman was out and about. He should be able to get enough sun, she hoped, while he wasn't caught in the storm that hunkered over Metropolis.

There was a knock at the door. Lois looked over cautiously, then slowly walked over to it, noting the presence of a table lamp that would be useful if Lois needed to hit anyone over the head. She peered through the eyehole, and let out a breath as she recognized one of the drivers she had talked to earlier. She darted over to turn off the TV, and opened the door as the man began to knock again.

"Hello," Lois said.

" Miss Lane," the short, slightly gruff yet plump man said. "They're coming up with your couch right away. Darn difficult to get it up here, let alone dry, with all the rain starting up again."

Lois looked over as she saw two men puffing up the stairs, their faces red with exertion from the many floors they'd taken.

Oh. The couch must have been too big for the elevator.

Lois directed them inside and situated the perfectly colored, comfortable couch in the middle of her living room, then slipped them an extra thirty dollars for them to take the old piece away.

Even though . . . She was strangely hesitant to see it go. Of course there was no room for her to have two such couches in her apartment, but she couldn't help but remember how Kal-El had looked sprawled out on it—looking pale, vulnerable and so innocent as he slept with the healing glow of the sun in his soft dark hair.

But then the couch was gone. Lois's apartment was clean and ready, and she had the fanciest frozen dinners she could find stashed carefully away in her newly-emptied freezer.

She was ready.

She glanced at the clock. Thunder echoed outside.

She still had plenty of time.

She gathered her things carefully, then took the elevator downstairs. A taxi ride and a short wait later, Lois had picked up her beloved and repaired Jeep and was driving it through the Metropolis streets, listening to the radio prattle on and on about Superman—where he had been, where he was now, and what everyone was doing about it.

But she wasn't going home.

She pulled to a stop across the street from a certain apartment complex, turning off her car and peering through the heavy rain which pounded her shadowed windows to a window high above the sidewalk.

It didn't look like there was a light on.

Lois hesitated in the silence of the empty car, then pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed a number. She waited, listening to the distanced drumming of the rain and tapping her finger against her steering wheel as if to the beat of its humming, thrumming rhythm.

"Hello. This is Clark Kent. I'm not at home right now, so if you could just leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Lois hung up, waited for a minute, and then tried again. She realized she was tapping with her finger and forced herself to stop.

"Hello. This is Clark Kent. I'm not at home right now, so if you could just leave a message I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Lois hung up again without leaving a message.

She glanced up and down the street. The only person walking by was a man with an umbrella, hunched over as if to hide himself from the battering wind and rain. Lois watched him pass under the dim grey veils of the streetlights until he was well out of sight.

She glanced up and down the street again, then pulled out her umbrella and stepped out of the car. The rain's volume increased as she stepped out of her removed world and out into the downpour, and taking a folder of papers with her, she looked up towards Clark Kent's apartment.

If Clark came back while she was there, she could explain that she had come over to talk about Luthor and had just let herself in to get out of the rain. Simple. Clark was not the kind of guy who would want her waiting out on his front step waiting for him to come home, after all—especially in this sort of weather.

She hurried across the street. Rain splattered against the asphaltand the wind carried it beneath the shelter of her umbrella, scattering dark droplets on her charcoal work pants. Taking some shelter in the open-aired staircase, Lois paused to take a breath, glanced up and down the street again, and then jogged up the stairs.

She didn't know how much time she had, but she needed to be quick one way or another.

She reached his door at last. Shivering and not exactly dry despite her long coat and her careful use of the umbrella, Lois bent down and lifted the potted plant under which her naïve coworker always hid his spare key.

But it wasn't there.

It was a simple observation. It shouldn't have been shocking. The idea that Kent had kept a key there in the first place was absolutely ridiculous—the farm boy was obviously too trusting and naïve, and Lois had ranted about it before. But he had kept it there nonetheless. It was part of what made up the strange and confusing character of Clark Kent.

_Why was it gone? _

And why did it matter so much that it was? Kent had just decided to listen to her at last. He'd smartened up. It shouldn't mean anything.

Then why did the fact that the key was gone shake Lois so soundly?

Lois straightened, frowning at her own reaction. The missing key was a little detail, and it hardly made her work any less difficult. Clark knew she could pick locks, after all, and surely he still wouldn't mind if he found her in there waiting if he were to come back.

Her cover story would still work.

Pulling out the set of picklocks that she had grumbled over a couple days before (half of which were broken), Lois got to work. Less than a minute's worth of grumbling later, the locking mechanism clicked and the door slid open.

Sticking the picks back into her purse with a small smile of congratulations, Lois stood and stepped inside Clark Kent's apartment.

It was dark inside. Rain pittered and pattered on the broad expanse of the windows, and water ran down the panes, reflecting a dark and slickly shifting pattern of light and shadow on the carpet and walls—like wriggling snakes. Thunder rumbled darkly outside.

Lois paused, feeling suddenly very much like the intruder she was. She closed the door behind her—the lock clicking closed sounded loud even over the rain in the stillness of the room.

The last time she had been there . . . It seemed so long ago, and she had almost forgotten how she had barged in here, looking for Clark and demanding where Superman had gone. Clark had looked so awful, standing there, and then they'd received news of his father's coma.

Lois winced and shook herself, trying to banish the shadowed memories. She reached over and turned on the light, bathing the room in warm light. She immediately felt better. Clark's apartment was probably the most comfortable living space she had ever stepped into. While the many books lining the shelves and the various odds and ends sitting comfortably here and there were not the interior designer's dream, they made the place feel homely and lived in. She stepped further into the room.

"Hello? Clark? Clark, it's Lois."

No harm being extra careful, just in case. But there was no answer.

Relaxing a hair, Lois set her umbrella in the corner and pulled out a hand towel she had stuffed into its interior to quickly mop up the drips of water she had carried in with her. She stepped out of her wet shoes and moved farther into the apartment, her eyes sharp and ready.

"All right, Clark Kent," she said, hefting her notebook and feeling her camera resting in her pocket. "Let's see what you have for me."

She had expected to need to dig quite deep to find anything of interest, but to her surprise she didn't get beyond his first bookshelf before she had to stop to stare.

_What the—?_

Okay, so there were the classics. She didn't really know _what _she imagined Kent to read in his spare time, and she wasn't too surprised to find a the complete works of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens, philosophers Plato and Aristotle, Nietzsche, several Mark Twain books, all the way to Joseph Conrad's _Heart of Darkness_.

No. It was the books sitting snugly between those well-known (and some not-so-well-known) books that drew Lois's attention.

Dante. Homer. Fyodor Dostoevsky. Victor Hugo . . . She recognized the names, if not the titles in some of the cases, because she was quite sure that the copies of the books were not in English.

They had clearly been read through more than once, Lois thought, pulling down a thick copy of what she concluded was a very Russian copy of Dostoevsky's _Brothers Karamazov _and paging through the dog-eared pages. There were even notes in the margins, though heaven knew what they said—they were clearly in Russian, and the writing looked as if it could certainly have come from Clark Kent's hand, though it was a bit cramped in the small space.

Lois put back the book, pulling out her camera to take shot after shot of the bookshelf. There were plenty of authors she had certainly never heard of before, and some books that didn't have a visible title at all.

Russian, German, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Chinese . . . and was that some sort of Arabic language? Lois couldn't tell the difference between a good many of them, but picking up perhaps the strangest looking one she opened it and was soon able to find more steady handwriting in whatever language it was in, though Lois definitely couldn't say in this case if it was Clark's or not. She took a picture of one of the pages and put it back. She stood back, shaking her head.

She had long since believed that you could tell a lot about a person by the books they read. She kept about half of her own bookshelf hidden, of course, choosing to show the classics and intimidating novels that she loved which she knew would cow anyone who looked close enough. Nobody but a very select few (in fact, only one—Lucy, by Lois's knowledge) knew about the hidden half of her bookshelf. Oh, and Superman. He had come by once while she had been reading one of her favorite romances, and found her balling her eyes out. She had been horrified, of course, but once he had gotten over his concern that nothing was wrong despite her tear-swollen image, he had shrugged it off as no big deal, though he had been somewhat amused by her horror at his knowing about it and finding her in such a state.

Oh, but between those big and impressive books on Clark Kent's shelf there were others as well. _Lord of the Rings. _Jane Austin. Hm. Lois loved Austin's books herself, but most men she came across seemed to think she was more of a "women-only" type of author. A bunch of sports almanacs and magazines pushed up against the wood, a fair many light-hearted comedies, volumes and volumes it seemed of poetry. And there . . .

Lois's hand stilled over the title of a book that looked even more battered than even the most used. Carefully she pulled it out, leafing through the pages that seemed oh-so-fragile.

It was a cheaper paperback book—older, probably from his earlier years before traveling around the world. The pages were a bit wrinkled as if they had been exposed to damp weather more than once, and as she opened it up she didn't find any writing in it at first. After a couple minutes browsing through, her eyes fell on a single, unmarked passage where Marguerite had just taken leave of her husband after a cold, emotionless exchange, convinced that her husband loved her no longer.

_"Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more on to the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own suffering seem but light and easy to bear—a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footsteps had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last." _

So that was it. _The Scarlet Pimpernel. _A story of romance, adventure . . . lies, betrayal, and of love overcoming all. A story of a beautiful, able woman, and an apparently foppish man, who really carried the strength and nobility enough for a thousand heroes, but who hid that strength behind a façade of idiocy.

Lois gave a long sigh and carefully closed the tattered copy of the book. She smiled somewhat self-mockingly at her own romanticism, but she couldn't deny that the book was one of her very favorites. But Kent . . .

Was this one of the books that Clark Kent would prefer to have hidden under his bed? He never seemed too much like the romantic, really. But clearly the book was clearly well-loved.

Clark Kent the romantic. Well, she knew he was old-fashioned, and she knew he was certainly die-hard enough to still hold hopes towards her, no matter how often she smacked him down.

Superman liked _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ as well. He had said so in the white room, during one of the long conversations they had had in the timeless air. Perhaps he had even held this very book, and read that very passage on that very page . . .

Lois felt a slight thrill and quickly—almost guiltily—put the book back in its place. She turned her face away.

The odds and ends cluttering his bookshelves along with his books likewise testified of his time of travel before settling down in Metropolis. She found his music library, which was as diverse a selection as his books. Taking a couple pictures, she moved on.

Photos he had plenty of. Pictures of Kent from a boy to a young man to the person he was now were found almost everywhere she turned. Some football pictures from high school and college—which was odd. She never would have pictured Kent as a sportsboy, despite his claim that he had gone running the other day. There were graduation pictures, around-the-house pictures, and a bespeckled, maybe 12-year-old, awkward-but-charming-looking plaid-garbed boy beaming out at the camera as he hugged a cow around its neck as he held up a bright blue ribbon with utmost pride. It was so classic that Lois couldn't help but chuckle.

Clark Kent, Kerth Winner— First Place Cow in the Smallville Country Fair.

She scanned over most of them quickly, though, and tried hacking into his laptop which was sitting on his desk in his room—but to no avail (she had even tried a good many variations of " Lois Lane," and was frustrated when they hadn't worked). In his desk she found an almost overflowing drawer of (unsurprisingly) carefully ordered letters. She was disappointed to find that, once again, most of them weren't in English, and the ones that were seemed like normal, boring, friendly exchanges between acquaintances. She couldn't read the others, of course but she took a couple pictures for later research.

The search ended up being both intriguing and somewhat disappointing at the same time. Everything she found pointed to everything Clark Kent had ever told her to be as true as gold. He was clearly the farm boy she believed him to be, though perhaps a bit more of a sentimentalist than she had formerly thought, and as clear of an idealist as she had ever guessed. As for informative papers . . . She'd found old papers on articles, old memorabilia from both known and unknown sources, but not even a scrap of paper that she couldn't find out of place except for those written in other languages in the desk drawer.

And no sign of his famous Lex Folder which she knew he had taken home after she had stolen it from his desk and began to tease him mercilessly over it a couple months ago.

Now where would he have hidden _that_? It certainly would be useful, now. But despite her best searching it was nowhere to be found. She had even looked under the bed (and it was disappointingly and almost disgustingly clean under there), but to no avail.

While Lois was in the middle of an excavation under Kent's bathroom sink, the phone rang. She swore and started, knocking her head sharply against the pipes. She pulled herself out and sat up, rubbing her head as the message machine came on and the person on the other end actually left a message.

" Clark? Clark, honey, this is mom. Give me a call when you get home, okay?" There was a pause, filled only with the soft thrumming of the rain on the window, and Martha's voice shook slightly. "I hope you're being careful out there. And you better not be overdoing it, or I'll have to come over there and drag you back to Smallville whether you like it or not." Another pause. "I love you, honey. You're the best. I hope you know that. I'll be waiting for your call."

She hung up.

Lois stood and walked over to the phone, still rubbing the tender knot on her head. It was kind of an odd call—certainly not like the kind Lois would think to receive from her mother (if she ever got a message, which was rare enough). But of course, Martha's husband had just passed away, and as far as Lois knew she was away on that little farm all by herself, now that Clark was back. No doubt she was keeping in very close contact with her son, even with him all the way here.

She pushed down the sting of guilt that had been prying at her mind's shell the whole last while as she pried into Kent's personal life.

Where _was_ he?

She didn't know. Her apprehension of him finding her in his apartment had faded to general confusion as time had passed. She'd been there for almost a whole hour. Where in the world would Kent go on a Sunday?

She just didn't know. But she decided she had stayed long enough, one way or another. Gathering up her things and pulling back on her slightly-damp coat, Lois glanced around the apartment to make sure everything was in the same place she had found it, turned off the light, and opened the door to step out into the rain.

Lois glanced back up at the darkened apartment as she reached her car. She bit her lip, recognizing the guilt that had been eating at her the whole while she had been nosing around in Clark Kent's comfortable home.

What if she was wrong? What if there really wasn't anything else behind Clark Smallville Kent? What if it was all just in her head? What if she really was just going crazy?

Well, then. If that was the case, then Lois would put this case behind her and Clark would never be the wiser of it.

She dropped the film from her camera off at an hour-developing place and wasted the time away sitting in a waiting area, staring off into the air.

Had Superman taught Clark all of those languages? Surely that was impossible. She had known that one of her dad's friends could speak eight, but he was an Oxfordian, brilliant, and 67 years old besides.

Or were those _Superman's _letters?

The thought made Lois grow still, and she gritted her teeth.

She'd look at how they were addressed, and she could always just stop there, if they did turn out to be so. She certainly didn't want to invade his privacy.

Lois bit her lip. But she had invaded Clark's privacy. And quite knowingly, at that.

It was for an investigation. Mad Dog Lane. No mercy. Kent was going down.

_It was Clark Kent's _apartment. _How would _you_ feel if he broke into _your _apartment looking for why _you_ acted so inconsistently towards him_?

Lois stiffened. Why, she had Superman's cape stuffed under her pillow, as she always did. And if Clark were to find her stash of hidden books under her bed . . .

She'd probably die. Or maybe just have to kill him.

But Kent wouldn't ever do something like that . . .

Was it so illogical to wish that she _had _found something more out of place than some books and letters in different languages? At least that would justify some of her suspicions.

_What suspicions?_

She didn't know, okay?! They were just _there_.

Lois shifted in her seat under the bright florescent lights, grumbling mentally to herself as her very unreasonable guilt continued to grow. The silence was deafening, and she wished for the steady roar of the rain instead of that cursed hum of the lights. It brought back bad memories and made her feel uneasy.

Okay, maybe it wasn't all that unreasonable. But she had done such things before, hadn't she? And she'd never felt too guilty about that, had she? Especially when something had turned up because of her snooping.

No. Not snooping. Investigating. She was an investigative reporter, and Clark Kent was maddening enough that he was being investigated by Lois Lane. The end.

_Besides, Melinda had _told _her to investigate! _

But wasn't this a little extreme? Breaking into his apartment and prying around in his personal things?

Of course not!

_Yes. _

Well, maybe.

She had found his journal in a small drawer next to his bed, but she had stayed her hand there. There were some boundaries that even she would not cross, even for a potential lead.

But maybe she should have.

_No. It's a very good thing you _didn't!

She could just imagine one of his entries . . .

_Dear Journal—Another good day at work. I told Lois I was right about Lex, and she finally got of her so-high-horse (which is about three times as large as old Buck who won first at the country fair last year!) and then admitted so! Oh, I left her in the middle of an investigation (again) and now she's all furious and spitting at me (again), but with those chocolates and flowers she'll no doubt be back in shape in no time (again). _

Idiot.

But even as she thought it, the imagined words rang sour like an out-of-tune copper-green church bell. Lois's frowned as her thoughts pulled to a stand-still. What _would_ Clark Kent's journal be like?

_Today I waited outside Lois's apartment for four hours . . . _

Lois blinked. Four hours? Surely not . . .

But she'd come home after nine, and he hadn't left until after eleven . . . How long had he been waiting before?

Wow. The man really _was_ persistent.

The page floated into her mind.

_Dear Journal. Today Lois came into work at 8:03—one minute and thirty-two seconds later than usual . . . She was wearing her black stilettos and her hair looked just _hot . . . _Maybe I'll try to ask her out (again), after I sit outside her door and make her feel bad for me so she'll say yes. She came home at exactly forty-seven seconds after 9:07 . . ._

Hm. Stalker Kent. It just didn't fit.

_Dear Journal . . . _

Cows, maybe? Sheep? Corn? She chuckled.

Her inner voice scorned her_. Now you're just being stupid. You _know_ there's more to Kent than just the country boy. You can't deny it, even if you did before. _

Oh, shut up.

_Dear Journal . . . _

_Dad died today . . . _

Lois winced. Idiot man. He always was too much of a softie—that was his problem. He was in the big city now—he had to hit hard, get down and dirty. Dig in with his nailsThe world wasn't going to stop for things like that. People died. The world went on and didn't wait.

_Dear Journal . . . _

No! She did _not _care what might have been written in Clark Kent's journal!

It had been good of her not to read it. And she was _not _regretting it.

_At least you had enough conscience to let Kent keep that privacy, at least_.

Conscience? Lois shook her head. It had been propriety, _not _guilt that had kept her from opening it up. Kent was a . . . a friend.

_Some way you have of showing it—first brushing him off and then breaking into his apartment._

Lois winced.

Okay. Fine.

But what was she going to do about it? Go apologize? For goodness sakes, who knew how the man might react? He might . . . He might . . .

What _would_ he do?

Clark . . .

He'd look so hurt if he found out. His dark eyes would widen behind the glasses, and he'd look just like a kicked dog—or like she'd reached in and ripped his heart out with her bare hands while he had been watching her with those open, trusting eyes. Or maybe he'd actually get angry at her, though the thought was ridiculous.

And it hurt.

_Would _he get angry at her? Would the cow-hugging, football-playing, philosophically-minded, secretly-romantic, brilliant, multi-lingual, generous, patient, personable, friendly, cheerful, open, caring, self-less Clark Kent (and who cared what he put in his journal?) finally decide not to put up with her?

Lois felt her heart sinking. Rapidly. Dropping down to the very darkest corner of the darkest crevice in the deepest section of the sea.

She couldn't say why, but the thought of Kent finally getting sick of her and her disgustingly irritating nature made _her_ feel ill.

_You should have thought about that before you broke into his apartment_, her inner voice muttered.

Yes, maybe.

Maybe she did take him for granted. Maybe she was too quick to judge him, time after time after time . . .

_There's no maybe about it._

Her name was called. Lois stood, feeling utterly deflated, to go pay for the pictures.

_You're right. _

She paid for the photos and dropped them in the trash can on her way out.

She had underestimated Clark Kent, one way or another. So he was a farm boy. So he was a bit naïve. But she had found pictures of him standing amongst starving African children, his face as pure as an angel and so beautifully sad yet _loving_ as he looked at their suffering and he held one of the thin and bedraggled little ones in his arms.

_Dear Journal . . . _

Clark Kent was more than just a good man. Clark Kent was more than just a tag-along of Superman's as he had flew around the world. No. Clark Kent had a heart and soul as big as that smile that had burst out of that old picture from the country fair.

There was a reason, Lois realized, why Superman had chosen Clark Kent. They were just alike. Caring far beyond themselves, and strong enough to _do_ something about it.

So. Perhaps Superman hadn't just been being charitable in taking the blame from Clark Kent. Perhaps _Superman_ really had separated himself from Clark Kent for _Kent__'s _own safety.

Lois felt a chill. Perhaps Kal-El meant to do the same thing to _her._

_Idiot _man.

But wouldn't it be just like him, from what Lois knew. Again and again he tried to pull away—for her safety. Had Clark been so frustrated yet helpless as he had watched his good friend withdraw and pull up that cursed superhero mask of his?

And Clark might be good at being generally kind to people, but how often did people really take the time to be kind back, besides a casual wave? The only one Lois had ever seen Clark succeeding in beings friends with was Jimmy, who was young and sometimes just plain _annoying _to be around, and . . . herself.

Herself. Her. Lois Lane, who never let him get close. Who slammed him down so hard that he was reduced to a stuttering, bumbling bulk of awkwardness.

Poor Clark.

Lois stopped herself flat. Poor _Clark_ The same man she was so cursedly furious with, after he had run off the day before?

_Brainless, selfish lunkhead! _

Oh, she was going to get an answer to _that_ mystery, no matter _how _deep she had to dig!

_Dear_—

_SMASH! _

Lois took a mental hammer and crushed the annoying repeating voice into nothing but a pile of bent and crushed metal and some screws which went spinning off somewhere into the depths of her mind.

Like she was saying, she was going to get an answer to _that_ mystery, no matter _how _deep she had to dig!

Feeling satisfyingly indignant again, Lois drove back to Kent's apartment, returned to her parking spot, tried his phone number again, and when she got the message machine again she just sat back and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She had done stake-outs before. Of course, this wasn't really an official stake out, because she was ready to dart out there as soon as she saw Kent.

To say what? She didn't know. Her thoughts bounced between an open confession of what she had done and a forceful confrontation of his secrets.

Oh, she was an awful woman. Kent's little boyish crush would certainly be wiped clean out of his moonstruck eyes if he knew the truth about her.

And for some reason, the thought that that light in her naïve partner's eye would vanish struck her to the heart.

Lois shook her head at herself. She didn't know what to do. To think. To _feel._

How could the uncertain creature that was her partner be the same man who was in that picture from Africa, calm, confident, and capable of the trust that shone up from the children's eyes as they looked at him?

Clark Kent in the Congo? Facing the wilds of Brazilian jungles, carrying around a machete like she had seen in that thick book of photos in his drawer? The thought was laughable. She couldn't see him lasting a day.

But he had. He had traveled the world for four years. He had the sort of experience that could turn men into arrogant narcissists, the intelligence to turn men into overconfident prigs.

Instead, he was just . . . Clark Kent.

Somehow, that made what he had done all the more amazing.

Lois didn't trust it. There must be something else she was missing. But she had taken the wrong road to try and get it.

The hours slid by. Lois was tired, and her eyes drooped to the comings and goings of the rain, but she forced herself to stay awake. She almost wished she had kept those pictures she had taken from Kent's apartment, just to keep herself occupied.

Almost.

Finally, tired, cramped from sitting so long, and feeling like a useless and low-life dirt reporter if she ever had felt so, Lois started her jeep and headed home, disappointed that her waiting had come to naught.

But Superman would be coming over soon. She didn't want to be late.

Besides, she had to talk to _him_ too.

Arriving at her apartment, Lois parked her jeep, darted inside before she could get too wet, and in a minute was up in her apartment, turning on the oven and glancing out the unlocked window.

He was coming soon.

She turned on the TV, double checked to make sure everything was in order, and then sat down to listen and watch the news, which was still caught up in the storm of Superman's mysterious disappearance and return.

And there, she waited.

TBC . . .

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!


	40. Getting to Know You

Okay! Review to review time (since I know you come back for those, not the chapter, right? ;) :D) Sorry if it's a bit brief--this week has been chaotic, and I still have a 2 page paper to write by tomorrow, and it's starting to edge onto the "late" hours of the night. So here we go . . .

Divamercury--What can I say? You're support is greatly appreciated, as always! Hope you enjoyed their talk . . . and I was going to write more, but I'm cutting myself off there! ;)

TCfan30--Sooo glad you liked the "sneaking Lois" and "Stalker Kent." I have to admit I was laughing during a lot of the last chapter myself:D

blah125--You loved the last chapter! Great! I sometimes worry if I'm dragging this on too much, so it's great to hear that new chapters cause my readers particular pleasure. Hope you enjoy this one/thumbs up/

KC-Piper-Fan--I understand how busy life can get. I'm working and going to college, and this week in particular . . . well, let's just say it took a miracle and most of the hours I usually reserve for sleeping to get this chapter out on time. Thanks for taking the time to review anyway!

gonnabfamous07--Glad you liked the chapter! Thanks so much for your review. I'm not saying anything else.

Fondued Jamaica--Thanks for the absolutely lovely review. I'm glad you liked the whole comparison to The Scarlet Pimpernel. I have to admit I am quite biased towards it (if you can't tell). I wrote a paper for fun when I was in 7th grade about how Percy started the whole superhero/second identity thing that's become so common in American comics. Yes, I was a freakish child. But there we are. That's life! ;)

PhantomOCD: Welcome to the madness! I hope it keeps up to your expectations. As for the lack of foul language and "awkward situations" . . . I admit I've grown up quite sheltered in those respects, and I don't mind staying that way. ;) I'm glad you're liking the story. Thank you so much for your very flattering review!

Oh! An extra warning before you begin: this chapter is pure fluff. I've never written such a thing without a good dose of angst to balance it off, so I apologize beforehand if it doesn't work.

I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 40: Getting to Know You

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Superman hovered just outside Lois's window, heedless of the pouring rain. He was already soaked to the skin a thousand times over (his suit provided little protection from the torrential downpour), and his hair was slicked back as water slid down his face like a constant river.

He was late—it was almost ten o'clock, by the glimpse he had caught of a rushing businessman's wristwatch as the man had struggled down below with an uncooperative umbrella. Clark had actually been honestly surprised. Flying around all day, in and out of so many time zones that day and night seemed to blur as one, time had slipped away from him, leaving only grey exhaustion in the late hour.

Of course, he had known and tried to warn Lois that something like that would probably happen, but she just hadn't listened. And he really _had_ meant to get there on time, but he'd been stuck dealing with the earthquake in Hong Kong for over six hours now, and hadn't been able to pull away until now, even if the time had occurred to him. No—he had been too busy to worry about the luxury of time until now.

Clark ran a soaked hand over his face to brush the rain from his eyes, but seeing as his hand was dripping wet it did little good.

He was tired.

It hadn't helped that it had been night in Hong Kong during most of his work there, and he had returned to Metropolis to be greeted with the sky dumping several tons of water over his head.

Half of him just wanted to go home and sleep.

But Lois was waiting.

He hadn't hovered there for more than a minute when a light went on inside and Lois Lane walked towards the window—which was interesting, because Clark was sure that she hadn't seen him floating there. She opened the window and caught his eye.

"Are you going to come in, or are you going to stay out in the rain all night?" she asked, her tone as dry as Clark was wet. She sounded wonderful.

But instead of immediately moving, Superman didn't answer at first. He paused, hovering there almost absently as he looked at Lois as if he was using is x-ray vision to look deeper than her skin—down into her very mind. His brow furrowed slightly as his dark eyes studied her, and for a moment Lois felt as if she, instead of him, was hovering outside his personal space and threatening to intrude.

She didn't know what sort of conclusion he came to, but after a moment his eyes pulled from hers, and she could have sworn she saw him bite his lip, if only for a second as he ran a hand through his sopping hair.

"What is it?" Lois asked, resisting the urge to mirror his nervous action.

"N-nothing." But he didn't meet her eye right away.

Instead, his gaze moved down at where the pounding drops were bouncing off the window ledge and onto Lois's nice dry carpet. As if reading his mind, Lois reached over and picked up a towel from where it was sitting neatly folded on her coffee table and held it forward, as if trying to lure a little animal inside.

"Here," she said, worried that he might change his mind and fly off in a moment. "Come on in, and we can talk."

He stepped forward, touching lightly upon the windowsill as he reached out and took the towel from her. He began to step inside, then there was a blur and suddenly he was standing there, a steam of cloud rising from his perfectly dry being.

Lois's jaw dropped despite herself. "Wow," she breathed as he turned around and blew the steam out the window.

Kal-El closed the window and turned to give her a crooked, embarrassed grin. "I didn't want to drip all over the place."

"Oh. That's all right," Lois said. "I mean, thank you for not dripping all over the place, and for doing whatever you did, but it really would have been all right. I wouldn't have made you stay outside or anything even if you _did _come in dripping wet. That's why I had the towel there and everything. But I guess you didn't need it anyway, and I should have realized that you wouldn't but . . . " Oh great. Her fourth real sentence of the night and she was already babbling, and Superman knew it, from that bemused, amused look on his face. She cut herself off sharply, reaching out sharply for the towel. "Here. I can take that from you."

"Thank you," he said, handing it back to her. Their fingers brushed, and Lois suddenly felt quite warm despite the chill air that had been let in through the open window.

She realized she was grinning at him like an idiot and forced herself to stop. "Sorry," she said. "I'm acting completely stupid, aren't I? I—I'm just really glad you're here. I was starting to worry you weren't going to be able to come."

"I was in Hong Kong."

"I know," Lois said, and Clark realized for the first time that the television was on. He had been too caught up just staring at Lois to notice earlier. He looked at her closely again, as if not exactly sure how to take her—and he wasn't. He wanted to lean forward and let her hold him. The day had been hard—wonderful at times, but there was so much death, even amongst the miracles. His body was drained, his soul was wearied, and the images of death and blood and pain had torn open still-raw memories in his heart and mind. He had actually had to fly off quite suddenly more than once to be ill where it wouldn't be caught on camera or witnessed by a thousand prying eyes, amidst the carnage of the earthquake or another tragic disaster.

So much death. So much pain. Even while he fought to save each little, single light of life and hope . . . there was so much he couldn't do.

How had he coped with it before? It had been terrible, but he didn't remember it eating at him, tearing at him, choking him.

_Logram . . . Luthor . . . what have you done to me?_

He wasn't going to let it stop him. He _couldn't _let it. But he was so tired . . .

Three days ago he'd been unable to fly and had been spending most his time resting. Then he'd started his rescues, and since then had only had as much sleep and sun as when he accidentally fell asleep yesterday morning in California. He didn't remember flying ever being so difficult, or lifting through debris and rubble so incredibly trying.

His mom was going to kill him.

He just wanted to sleep . . .

But despite all the darkness, there was that hope in the peoples' eyes. The light of relief that dawned on their faces in the black of the night as Superman came on the scene—never-ceasing. He was ubiquitous, it seemed at times, as he darted here and there to lift and clear rubble that it would have taken days for normal men to sort through, and pinpointed a living soul amongst the ruins that probably wouldn't have been found until it was too late.

Life. Hope. Tears of joy and reunion. He needed to focus on those. Not on the blood. Not on the darkness. He was seeking the light—showing it to the people to encourage them on their way. He was not fighting the darkness, he was just bringing the light.

He'd leave facing the night to a certain caped marauder in Gotham City, he thought wryly.

The images on the television were flipping through some stills of the wreckage, as reports of the destruction rolled along the bottom in running letters. More than half of the shots had Superman in them. He grimaced. There were thousands of other heroes out there, volunteering and risking their lives to help others. He was just the one with the flashy uniform, and so he got all the attention.

It was a part of his job that he was really growing to hate.

Lois seemed to sense the darkness of his thoughts, for she hurried over and turned the television off. "I was just watching. I saw you leave a few minutes ago, so . . . I hoped you were coming. How are you?"

Clark took a deep breath, drawing himself from his thoughts. He had hardly spoken all day, except for that necessary for his rescue efforts. He needed to pull himself out of that tight, firm, unyielding mindset. It was time for him. For Clark Kent.

Even if it was Superman standing in Lois's apartment right then—he needed this. All of him needed it.

The relief. The joy. It had been a wonderful day, a wonderful night. There had been so much hope restored, so much life returned . . .

"I'm fine," he said, and gave an honest smile.

Lois looked at him for a moment and then just shook her head. "And to think I used to believe you couldn't tell a lie. And I guess in one way I was right. You're the worst liar I've ever heard."

She walked towards him and reached up to touch his face—hesitating only a moment at the intimate gesture before she reached up and brushed at a streak of dirt smeared across his cheek. "You look tired. Do you . . . need to go and get some sunlight?"

Clark could tell she loathed the thought of letting him go, but she asked the question anyway. He smiled faintly. Yes, he was tired, and his whole body felt heavy and slightly achy, but he was content to stay here, just for a little while. "I'm fine, Lois. Thank you."

Lois drew her hand back and looked at him. He was still slightly paler than usual, and though he looked cheerful despite his obvious tiredness he seemed a bit distant—withdrawn, and even weary beneath that. She put a hand on his arm. "Come and sit down."

Lois helped him forward, sitting him comfortably at the table before walking over and pulling a lamp from against the wall and bringing it right up to him. She turned it on, making Clark wince and cover his eyes against the sudden bright glare. "Lois? What . . . ?"

Oh, but it felt _good_. He could feel it—faint, gentle, like a soft breath of energy. It was a mere shadow next to the power of the sun, but he could feel it as it began to seep steadily into his drained body.

"Can you feel it? Is it working?" Lois asked, sounding anxious.

"Yes," Clark said, opening his eyes that he hadn't realized he had closed in pure bliss at the small but blessed amount of energy. "Is that—?"

"A sunlamp?" she finished, a bit bashfully. "Yeah. I saw it was raining again, and I thought you might be tired . . . " She still sounded a bit uncertain, so Clark gave her a smile and reached over to take her hand in his. He stood slowly, catching her eyes with his own, and suddenly the energy from the light seemed insignificant as he sunk into those perfect, heavenly pools of her soul.

"Thank you, Lois," he whispered, unable to speak the words in a full voice, but somehow that just made it more powerful.

_Thank you_.

The words carried more than just a thank you for the light. That was a little thing—petty, small, and quite forgettable. This was an expression of gratitude that swept away those simple words written and left on a lonely coffee table two weeks ago, when Kal-El had left her apartment without a word.

_Thank you_.

They carried the weight of the white room, the burden of the fears and pains. They carried the spirit of hope despite the despair, and the laughter despite the tears. They carried the sound of a thousand unspoken words of love in a cold, sterile world where all humanity had been replaced by hate—except for the two surviving lights of themselves.

Gratitude for his life, for his hope, for his still-surviving spirit. Gratitude for her smile, her laughter, even her sharp words, at times . . .

Gratitude for the way she furrowed her brow when she thought, or how her eyes lit up with a new thought. For how her gaze drifted towards the window without her noticing, or at times she looked at a bumbling, annoying partner with that odd softening in her expression without realizing it.

Gratitude for a simple word or touch, a little bit of kindness, and for the return of a worthless, worn out pocketknife.

"No," Lois whispered back, leaning forward to put her face against his warm chest as she put her arms around him. "Thank _you_, Kal-El, for coming back."

_That was enough. As long as he was here, she'd do anything for him_.

They stood there in silence, not wanting to let each other go—simply standing there, holding each other.

She was so small, Clark realized as he gently rested his head on top of hers. How could someone so small be so strong—both in body and spirit? He was supposed to be the strongest man in the world, but he realized—he was nothing without Lois. Nothing. His arms tightened slightly. Luthor had tried to take her last night. On his father's grave—_both_ of their graves—he'd never see it happen and live to tell.

_Never_.

After a long moment, Lois pulled away, though it was slightly hesitant and her hand caught his as she stepped back, as if she couldn't bear the thought of losing contact with him for a second. She smiled somewhat self-depreciatingly. "Sorry. You know I'm not that much of a hugging person, but, well, you know—"

"It's all right, Lois," Clark said. "I wasn't complaining."

Lois blushed. "I wasn't either," she said, with a slight challenge to her tone, though her eyes seemed to glow.

Clark was marveling at the power of that glow again, and took a moment to come up with an answer. "I'm glad," he said softly. "I've missed you."

And he had, and not only because he had gone to Smallville for those days. No—even seeing her at work, spending all those hours with her on the case—it just wasn't the same. He missed seeing _her_—a side of herself that she didn't allow Clark Kent to see.

Lois's frowned and her hand went slightly stiff in his, though she still didn't pull away. Instead, she moved over to open the fridge, actually dragging him forward a couple steps so she could open it and reach inside. "I missed you too," she said, but she didn't look at him.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, Lois. I'm sorry you worried."

Lois pulled a box out of the fridge and set it on the counter before reaching in and pulling out a carton of milk. "I know you are. But you must have realized I would worry no matter what kind of note you left. And I realize you thought it wasn't safe at my apartment. It turns out you were right." She looked back at him as she pried open the box to show a full-sized, heavenly-looking raspberry cheesecake. She pulled a knife out of a drawer beneath the counter and began trying to cut it with one hand. "You knew Luthor was responsible for Bureau 39 all along, didn't you?"

Clark winced as the cake slipped as Lois tried to cut it. He gently pulled his hand from hers. "I think it might work better if you used both hands, Lois," he said. "I'd rather not have to fly you to the hospital tonight."

Lois shrugged it off, but obeyed in using one hand to hold the box as she cut. "But you didn't answer the question."

"Can I help?"

Lois rolled her eyes. "Yeah. The plates are in the cupboard by the—oh." There was a rush of air and the plates were set carefully in front of her, along with two forks. After blinking for a moment, she looked up at him. "You could be useful around here, Kal-El. You don't happen to cook, do you?"

Superman gave a crooked smile. "When I want to," he said. "I don't have to eat, remember."

"But that just means that what you do eat you have to enjoy," Lois nodded, then frowned. "I . . . uh . . . I had dinner, but . . . it burned, so . . . do you mind if we just skip the main course?"

Her face flushed with the admittance, and Clark wondered what in the world Lois might have tried to cook up for him. His heart warmed within him at the thought of the trouble that she had gone to . . . just for him to come.

No. Just for _Superman_ to come.

Lois had gone still and was watching him, looking so very unsure and vulnerable again. He realized he had gotten lost watching her again and cleared his throat, feeling a slight burn in his own face as well.

"That . . . that's fine, Lois. Unless you want me to get something for you. Chinese, French . . . "

Lois smiled, still a bit flushed. "That's all right. I fixed something else up already. But . . . thank you." She carefully set two picturesque pieces of cheesecake onto their respective plates and then paused. "You _do_ like cheesecake, don't you?"

"Do you like chocolate, Lois?" he said to that, his tone slightly wry.

"Point taken."

Lois handed him a piece of the cake. They sat next to each other at the table, and Superman waited for her to start first before taking a bite of his own.

There was a moment of silence save for the stead, and then Superman closed his eyes.

"Oh my gosh."

Lois swallowed her first bite so quickly she almost choked on it. "What is it?" she demanded, sitting up straight and putting down her spoon.

Kal-El opened his eyes at her sharp reaction, and gave an embarrassed smile. "Nothing. It's just . . . this cake . . . " He took another bite slowly, closing his eyes again as he positively savored it. "It's the best thing I've tasted for days."

His slow delight was bewitching, and Lois cleared her throat and took a bite of her own to distract herself. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you've eaten during the past few days, hm?"

Clark was drawn out of his rapture of taste and blinked at her. She was right, and he hadn't even realized it. He hadn't eaten anything for . . . was it two days now? Three? Yet another thing his mother would kill him for if she found out. No matter that he hadn't _needed_ food since he was a teenager, she had always made sure he ate well anyway, and since he'd been sick she'd been watching like a hawk over his eating habits.

"See?" Lois said smugly, taking his silence for the affirmative it was. She took a bite of her own. "Mmm."

Clark looked up at her and suddenly even the richness of the cheesecake was forgotten. Blushing slightly, he took another bite, but didn't look away from her. Lois opened her eyes and caught him staring, they looked at each other for a minute, the awkwardness palpable. Clark swallowed his last bite, and an awkward grin struggled at the corner of his lip as Lois's eyes glittered with unhidden mirth. At the same time, each of them gave a stifled laugh, then looked at each other in surprise, and Lois began to snicker.

It was ridiculous. There was nothing funny, but something was hilarious. Clark couldn't help himself, and a grin grew on his face as he felt a chuckle rising in his chest, and before they knew it the cheesecake was forgotten as they were bent over in downright, open hilarity.

Anyone watching might have thought them both gone mad, for there was absolutely no cause for their mirth, but for the next five minutes every time either of them started to settle down, either Lois would begin snickering madly or Superman's chin would start shaking from his failing attempts to regain a serious expression and it would start all over again.

Finally, exhausted from laughter, Lois plopped herself upright in her seat and sat back. "This is so ridiculous!" she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "What's so funny?"

Clark was chuckling, and actually had to wipe his own eyes. "I—I don't know. _You're _the one that started laughing first."

"I did not!" Lois retorted in mock-outrage. Superman tried to turn his broad grin into a straight face, but wasn't doing very well, and Lois felt another soft snicker rise in her chest. She stifled most of it, but not very well. "Oh my gosh, we've both gone crazy."

"Maybe it was the cheesecake," Superman grinned, giving up on the more somber mask for now.

Lois grinned back, realizing that she had never ever seen the superhero looking so relaxed and generally happy, which was wonderful, considering how tired he had looked when he had arrived. He really did have such a stunning, brilliant smile. It looked like it was ready to jump right off his face.

"Maybe." Lois leaned forward, growing more serious. "But darn you, Kal-El," she said. "When it comes to dodging questions from nosy reporters, you've got to be the best I've ever met."

Clark blinked, surprised and a bit confused. "What?"

"I asked you about Luthor."

His brow wrinkled as he tried to remember. After a moment his expression cleared, only to be replaced once again by confusion. "That was over five minutes ago."

"And I'm still waiting for an answer."

Superman picked up his fork and cut the remainder of his cheesecake in two pieces, but didn't lift either piece from his plate. He grew solemn, and didn't look at her in the eye but for another quick, searching glance as if he was trying to puzzle her out, but it was gone in a moment.

"I wasn't certain about him being behind Bureau 39," he said slowly, then hesitated. " Clark . . . Clark and I had some suspicions, but nothing solid. We still don't have any proof against him."

Lois looked troubled. "Clark said . . . Clark said you didn't tell me because you thought I'd believe him. But when I didn't . . . why _didn't_ you tell me?"

Superman shifted uncomfortably, and it looked odd to see the superhero looking so out of place—though, Lois thought with some amusement, he really did look quite unnatural sitting at her kitchen table, eating his cheesecake. His reply was serious. "You knew Clark so much better than you did me, Lois. I thought you two were friends, and if you didn't believe him . . . why would you believe me? It's not like we know each other that well."

"That's what Clark said," Lois sighed, putting her chin in her hands and frowning at herself. "I guess I was a bit of an idiot." Superman gave a distant smile, but didn't say anything. Lois's frown deepened. "But that was before. I _do _know you better now, Kal-El."

Superman put down his fork, stopping himself from further decimating the remnants of the cheesecake on his plate, which was now just a pile of crumbs and mush. "Lois . . . I don't think you know me as well as you think you do," he said, not looking at her

Lois bristled at that, sitting up straight. "Don't you _dare_!" she hissed, suddenly stiff and fiery as an angry cat. "Don't you _dare_ start that now, Kal-El!"

Clark was completely taken off guard by the sudden defensiveness of Lois's tone and posture. "What?"

"Don't feed me that hogwash of 'we can't be friends because it's not safe.' We've been over this. I don't know if you realize it, but Lex's _interest_ with me has _nothing_ to do with you. I won't be any less in danger if you take off and move to China. So don't you _dare_ do what you did to Clark and try to leave me for my own good! I'm a grown woman and can make those kinds of decisions for myself!" she said, her voice taking on a slightly frantic tone.

He couldn't leave her. He _couldn't_. But if he decided to, what could Lois do to stop him?

She'd go up to her rooftop and throw herself off, that's what. And she'd keep doing it, making him come back and save her until he realized there was no point in trying to run away . . .

Clark blinked a few times and shook his head slightly before he realized what in the world she was talking about. He leaned forward slightly. "I wasn't going to say that, Lois."

Lois's mouth was already open with another almost panicked retort, but at those words she stopped, looking quite comical as she blinked, then shut her mouth and looked at him as if searching for a hidden meaning in what he had seen so far. Finally somewhat satisfied, her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. "Well, then. What _were_ you going to say?"

Clark swallowed, his eyes drifting into hers again. He couldn't think when that happened. He didn't want to talk, but just wanted to sit and stare and sink and lose himself in the essence, the power, the being that was Lois Lane. He lowered his eyes to his hands which were clasped on the table between them.

"I am very grateful for what you've done for me, Lois," he said softly. "You . . . you are an amazing woman. I . . . when I t-think what m-might have happened . . . "

He was stuttering again; his voice was shaking. Lois reached over and put a hand over his. "It's all right," she said. "It's over."

The superhero nodded and swallowed, taking a breath. "I . . . I know. You sacrificed so much for me, Lois, but even after that . . . you don't know me as well as you think."

Lois looked down at her hand resting on top of his. His powerful hands which could shatter mountains and bend steel. Those gentle hands who could lift with such care, and touch with such gentleness.

"Kal," she said softly. "There are some times . . . when after you have been through something with someone . . . it doesn't matter if you know all the facts from their life or not. I may not know about Krypton, about your childhood, about your life. I may not know where you live, or why you left me . . . but those don't matter." She looked up, catching his eyes in hers and holding them firm. "I know _you. _I've seen your _soul_. I have seen that, Kal, and it doesn't matter what little details I may or may not know, because they don't matter."

Kal-El actually bit his lip and looked away, pulling his hands away to run a hand through his dark hair as he looked north with some preoccupation. Something tugged in the back of Lois's mind.

"I don't know, Lois."

Lois's eyes narrowed and she frowned at him for a moment. "Fine," she said, suddenly business-like as she sat back. "Tell me. How old are you? When's your birthday? How was it in Kryptonopolis? Did you play sports? Did everyone fly, or what? Is it genetic, or some sort of super-technology?"

Clark blinked at her. "I thought the rule of good reporting was just one question at a time," he said with a shadow of a smile.

"Well, then," Lois said with a wave of her hand. "Pick and choose, I guess."

Clark hesitated, then took a deep breath as he pushed his plate away from himself. "Krypton . . . was much like Earth. The people were like humans, but the civilization was older, I guess. They couldn't fly. My powers are genetic, but they are due to the fact that Krypton's sun was a red sun, and Earth a smaller, younger yellow sun. So everyone just walked around there like people do here."

Lois blinked, surprised to have actually gotten an answer like that. "How do you know?" she asked. "A couple of weeks ago you didn't even know you _were_ solar-powered, let alone why."

"I received a message from Jor-El—my father," he added after a slight hesitation. "He . . . cleared up a lot of questions I had."

Lois's curiosity got the best of her. She leaned forward. "What sort of message? Like, a hologram, or what?"

Clark smiled at her enthusiasm. "Kind of. It's a projective, 3-D image that can actually respond to any questions I have."

"AI like that? How does that work?" Lois asked, then stopped at Kal-El's amused expression as he watched her. She grinned at herself, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean for this to turn into an interview, Kal-El."

Superman shrugged, but the way he spoke was not light or dismissive, but rather slow and thoughtful. "It is only natural that people would have questions. About me, and Krypton. So far, I have generally tried to avoid them, but I think I can answer them now."

Lois lifted her eyebrows. "So . . . you want me to give you an interview?" She was surprised but glad for the free opportunity to get some of her questions answered, so she didn't complain when he nodded, but she stood to grab a notebook from her desk and flipped through quickly to make sure there were enough pages.

She hesitated, however, before beginning.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, opening to a blank page.

Superman looked towards the window, where a sudden gust of wind pelted the rain more furiously against the pane before subsiding. His voice was soft when he began. "Lois," he said. "I . . . I can't help but think that . . . part of the reason why . . . _Bureau 39 . . ._ " He swallowed, clasping his hands under the table to hide his slight shaking, but even as he paused to compose himself Lois's hand slipped on top of his. He flinched at first, not wanting her to feel his fear, but her small hand intertwined with one of his and didn't let him go. "I . . . I think that if the people know . . . more about me then maybe . . ."—Lois's hand tightened on his, feeling his fear in the reflection of her own—". . . Maybe they won't . . . be afraid."

Lois blinked. She had expected perhaps a stronger PR front for Superman as the reason, after the many questions flying around about his disappearance. Granted, the general public was already quite firmly on his side, but with more information of the superhero known the government would no doubt back off a little. Maybe the Primaries would leave him alone a little longer.

But she hadn't expected him to express a hope to dismiss fear of _him_.

"Kal," she said. "Nobody's afraid of you."

He lip curled in a slight smile, but it was mirthless and his eyes were lightless. "I'm an a-_alien_, Lois," he said, slipping slightly as he whispered the word—as if afraid of speaking it too loudly. "People hung their neighbors in the seventeenth century because of slight discrepancies to the social norm." He looked away from her. "Fear brings out the worst in mankind."

"Or the best," Lois insisted, still holding his hand tight under the table. Fear was like any of the dark emotions of mankind—they tried the soul and spirit, and peeled out the fluff and lining to the truth beneath. "We both haven't had the easiest time with being . . . afraid. But look at you. You didn't let it stop you, even . . . back _There._ And you haven't let it stop you since."

Was that a flash of guilt across his face as he glanced at her? It was gone in a moment, but Lois was sure she had seen it, and it made her heart ache. He shouldn't still be blaming himself on things he couldn't control. The man expected too much of himself!

His hand squeezed hers back. "It's taking me time, Lois," he admitted. "You—you just kept going, no matter what."

It was Lois's turn to look away. "I had to," she said softly.

There was a moment of silence, and Superman's thumb gently brushed over her knuckles.

"Maybe we should start," Lois said at last. "It's getting kind of late." She hesitated. "That is—if you're absolutely sure you want to do this."

Superman smiled softly at that. "I am."

Lois nodded and sat up straight with a deep breath. "Okay," she said, and hesitantly slipped her hand from his to lift her pen. To compensate for the lack of touch, she scooted her chair over a few more inches towards him, so their knees actually knocked slightly under the table. After a couple seconds they were both settled, and Lois pulled out her tape recorder and began. "Let's start at the beginning, then. You were born on Krypton."

"Yes."

"What kind of culture do they have? Government?"

Superman hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. "It was a democracy," he replied. "The ruling body consisting of a council which was elected and chosen, though often they were chosen from a sort of upper body of citizens—of lords, if you will." He frowned. "To tell you the truth, I don't really understand too much of it myself."

Lois scribbled quickly onto her notebook before looking up again. She bit her lip. "It might be a hard question, seeing as . . . but, what was your family like? You know, siblings, parents?"

Clark smiled slightly. That was one of the first questions _he_ had asked, and had been quite relieved to find that, yes, he did have parents. Yes, he was born in a very human way, rather than some strange spawning or cell-splitting as was shown on TV for some types of aliens. Family-wise, Kryptonians seemed to be quite similar to humans. He had been surprised how relieved he had been to hear that.

It was good to have the answers to those little things—those little things that a person raised on Krypton might think laughable to ask about. But Clark hadn't known. He hadn't known anything.

"I was the only child," he said. "My father was a scientist, who predicted the destruction of the planet but . . . the council didn't listen. Jor-El sent me away against their orders. I'm . . . all that's left."

One of the horrible answers he had received. He was all that was left, except for a side note which Jor-El had dropped about some criminals being held in some alternate dimension called the Phantom Zone, but Clark hadn't really understood, and had changed the direction of the conversation when his biological father had began a long and completely confusing explanation of it.

As long as they were put away for good, Clark was fine with that. He certainly didn't want any super-powered criminals flying around.

Now _that_ thought was chilling.

Lois put her hand over his. "I'm sorry."

Clark realized she had taken his long silence for grief and cleared his throat. It certainly was an awful thought—that an entire race and civilization—_his _race—had been almost completely destroyed. Wiped out. Annihilated.

But it was a distanced sort of grief. Not sharp and painful, like the death of his dad. The death of his _real _dad—Jonathan Kent, the farmer. The simple man with the stubborn streak, the steadfast morals, the quick council and the deep, pleasant laugh.

With Krypton, Clark had lost something he had never had. It certainly left him feeling empty and as alone as ever, but that was it, though he felt he _should_ have felt more.

A whole people lost. What if something like that were to happen to Earth?

Even the very _thought_ of that made Clark feel sick. The thought of one human life slipping away needlessly made him sick.

_He had to stop the pain, the needless suffering . . . He needed to help._

Wasn't that enough to show that Earth was more of a home to him than Krypton could ever be? That he was more of an . . . an _Earthonian_, or whatever, than anything?

But Jor-El wanted him to stay at the fortress, to be trained. To be taught, so that Krypton would not be forgotten. Wasn't it his _duty _to let his people live on through him?

He realized that while he had been lost in his thoughts, Lois was chewing on her lip and looking guilty—no doubt kicking herself for asking a question that had obviously driven him into silent despair. He gave a crooked smile.

"Sorry. My mind got caught on a tangent."

Lois smiled back, though she still looked a bit nervous.

"We still don't have to do this, Kal-El. People don't need to be able to pick over your life like . . . like . . . "

_Like scientists over a dissected frog._

Lois swallowed. "Well, you know. They just don't need to be able to pick over your life like this."

"You've heard the rumors, Lois," he replied seriously. "People are wondering, especially with me going . . . missing. More than ever, conspiracy theorists are shouting of a possible—a possible_ alien_ invasion of Earth. I need their trust, Lois, and it's safer for _everyone_ if they know the truth."

_Everyone—especially the two of them._

Lois still didn't look entirely certain, but she hefted her pen and went forward.

They went on, and Clark answered as best as he could, though he was surprised with some of the questions that Lois came up with—ones that he wasn't sure how to answer, because he didn't know the answers himself. He would grimace and ask to skip that question, and though curiosity would positively gleam in Lois's eyes, she never pressed him. Much.

Some time later, Lois sat back, listening to the rain on the windows and biting the end of her pen while she leafed through the pages of notes they had put together.

"Well, this will be a killer article, that's for sure," she said, unable to hide her enthusiasm. "Have we missed anything?" She scanned over a few notes. "Oh." She bit her lip. "But those might be too intrusive."

Clark looked at her suddenly, and he turned a bit pink. "Uh . . . " _What kind of questions was she thinking about?_"

Lois blinked and flushed dark. "Oh! No, I didn't mean anything like that. Just, you know—height, weight, favorite spandex brand, you know," she said hastily.

Clark's eyebrows shot up. "Spandex brand?"

"You know what I mean!" Lois said, smacking him on the shoulder, but it wouldn't have hurt him even if he wasn't invulnerable. "Just—normal stuff—what you like, whatever."

"Spandex brand," Clark repeated.

"Would you lay off it? You _know_ what I meant."

Clark just shook his head and pushed his hair from his eyes. His spit curl fell over his forehead perfectly. "Okay. But . . . I can't reveal the spandex brand. That's . . . too personal," he finished somberly.

Lois glared at him, but couldn't keep it up. After a moment she sat back, chuckling a bit herself.

"You're impossible. Fine. If you don't want to go near the spandex, we'll stay clear of that, then. Your height?"

"Six four."

Lois penned that in carefully.

"Weight?"

He hesitated. "Uh . . . now, or what it usually is?"

LoiSs looked at him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Superman ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I usually weigh about 225."

"And . . . " Lois prompted, feeling that his sentence wasn't quite complete.

He shrugged. "Well, right now I'm a little less than that, that's all."

Lois bit her lip and leaned forward to turn off her recorder. "How much did you lose?" she asked, her tone completely changing and making it clear that this was quite off the record.

He shrugged. "Some."

"_Kal-El_," Lois warned.

"It's all right, Lois. It's coming back."

"Stop avoiding the question. You dangled the bait, and I've snatched at it. Now tell me."

Clark gave up, knowing there was no way he was getting away from the question unless he flew out the window without another word.

"215."

Lois leaned forward, looking into his eyes, but he wasn't looking at her. "Right now?"

Clark shrugged and nodded.

Lois immediately reached over and took another piece of the cheesecake and plopped it on his plate. She pushed it back to him without a word, though the look she gave him was clear.

"How bad was it at first?"

_How much had they taken away from him? _

"It doesn't matter, Lois. Really—" Clark tried as he looked down at his new piece of cheesecake and took an obedient bite. _Mmmm_.

Lois straightened, looking him over with a newly critical eye. "Okay, Flyboy," she said. "If food doesn't fatten you up, then you had better be soaking up that sunlight. I want you back up to 225 by next week, understand? If you need to cut back on your work until then, that's fine. Even _you_ need to watch out for yourself."

Ten pounds in a week? Surely she wasn't serious. It had taken him the past two weeks sitting in the sun in Smallville even to get this close to his normal weight.

"Lois, isn't that a little ridiculous . . ."

Lois rolled her eyes exasperatingly. "Goodness, Krypton. Shoot for the stars, and even if you come up short then you'll still probably get to where you need to be." She leaned forward and poked him in the shoulder. "Ten pounds. Next week. I want you back in the peak of health"

Clark felt an odd but pleasant tingle at the affectionate-sounding nickname. "It's better to try for something trying, but doable. The way you're talking you're always bound to fail, it seems."

Lois crossed her arms. "But I've found that I always end up above everyone else anyway. And besides, when you _do _reach the stars you get to rub it in the faces of all those earthbound unbelievers who don't reach beyond what they know they can get."

Clark chuckled. "You're impossible."

"I'm not the one who flies around in a cape and tights," Lois countered.

Clark fought a blush at that. Lois chuckled, taking a hold of her notebook again.

"So there we have it. Basic information on Krypton and yourself, some background, a couple stories . . . " She trailed off, scanning through the notes. "Do you think you might ever have time for an interview about Krypton's destruction sometime later? People would no doubt be interested in a whole series about what happened, to wipe out a whole civilization like that." She gave him an assessing look. "That is, if it's not too hard to talk about."

Clark shrugged. "I don't see why not, if it's all right with the ch—with Perry." Oops. He had almost slipped that time. He was getting too relaxed.

It was so nice to be able to relax, though. He was feeling most contentedly sleepy and peaceful for the first time in weeks.

Lois put down her notebook and stretched, then stifled a yawn. "So . . . it's still not too late. Do you feel up to a movie?" she asked, reaching over to take his hand.

"What do you have in mind?" Clark asked, curling his fingers around hers. Her hand fit so perfectly within his.

Lois smiled and stood, moving over to her television. "You'll just have to find out," she said. "And no peeking," she said, as she furtively drew out a DVD and stuck it in the machine.

Clark smiled, feeling too content and relaxed to argue at this point. He came over and sat down.

"I like your new couch," he said.

Lois smiled as she moved back to sit next to him. "So do I," she said. "It's much more comfortable than the other, that's for sure."

She turned on the TV with the remote and skipped the commercials and pressed "play" on the movie.

"Oh, you didn't," Clark said, chuckling as she came back to sit on the couch beside him.

"You _said_ you liked it," Lois defended herself, drawing her legs up onto the couch and leaning against him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I _do _love it," Clark said, but he wasn't looking at the television screen.

The opening notes of _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ started the movie. They watched in silence, their fingers intertwined and Clark's head resting lightly atop hers. The tale progressed, and the two watchers' eyes slid slowly closed, until both unknowingly slipped into the oblivion of peaceful sleep.

TBC . . .


	41. And Sleep, Perchance, to Dream

Hello, all! It's almost 1 o'clock am over here, and since it is now official my 20th birthday, I decided that I was going to get this chapter out now before I went to bed, since right at the top of my wish-list are a bunch of reviews.

But due to the late hour and the fact that I have to wake up at 6 for work, I'm afraid I don't have time to individually reply to your reviews. Do realize that, as always, I love your reviews so much and they really, really, really make my day. Thank you so much for taking the time--it tells me that this story is still worth writing.

Thank you, everyone! Please remember to review!

I really hope you enjoy this chapter! crosses fingers 

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Chapter 41: And Sleep, Perchance, to Dream

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_Lois drifted in a cloud of soft grey cotton. It pressed on her eyes like a thick mist, enveloping her, buffeting her gently back and forth like a drifting feather on a soft summer breeze. She rested, content away from the white walls of her usual nightmares. _

_"L-Lois . . . " _

_Her peace evaporated and her mind snapped to as she recognized the voice. _Kal-El.

_"L-Lois . . . I'm s-sorry." _

_What was wrong with him? He sounded terrified, hurt. Afraid. _

Why?

_Panic thrilled through her at the thought. _

_She had to find him. _

_"Kal-El!" she cried. _

_"Lois, I'm S-superman." _

_His voice was close—right behind her—right beside her. She could _feel _him, but as she turned she saw no one—nothing. Nothing but grey mist and shapeless shadows that danced in the empty air around her. They all meant nothing to her. _

_But he felt so close . . . _

_"Lois, p-please. F-forgive me. D-don't leave me . . . " _

_"Kal-El!" Lois shouted to the shadows, wanting to rip them apart, with her teeth and nails if need be, and find him. Her heart twisted in desperation as she sought for him blindly, pushing the meaningless shadows aside. "Kal-El! I can't find you!" _

_"Lois . . ." _

-----------------------------------------

Lois's eyes shot open and she stiffened, disoriented and lost somewhere between dream and reality. But then the man beside her shifted in an uneasy dream, and her eyes went to his face as wakefulness came to her fully. Superman was pale—his face damp from terrified sweat—and she could feel him trembling against her.

"L-Lois . . . I . . . I . . . " Superman mumbled in his sleep.

"Kal-El?" Lois said, leaning against him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

The features of his face relaxed slightly, but tension still tightened his brow, mixed with some deep anguish. "I . . . I'm S-S-Superman, Lois," he whispered. His brow furrowed further and he flinched. "N-no . . . L-lois . . . p—please . . . " He shivered out her name. "D-don't leave me . . . " he pleaded.

"Kal, I'm here."

He swallowed, still caught in his dream. "I'm S-superman," he whispered.

Lois's brow furrowed. Did he not want her to call him by his name? "Superman," she whispered, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his eyes, then putting her hand against his cold cheek. "Sh. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's just a dream. Just a dream."

"S-s-sorry," he sighed out with a soft, shaking breath as he drifted off again.

Under her hand and with her soft words, Kal-El stilled and drifted back into restful sleep, some color returning to his skin. His arms were wrapped around her as if she were some sort of giant teddy bear, holding her carefully in his warm and protective embrace. Lois smiled softly, resting her face against his warm chest and feeling it rise and fall slightly with each breath. His heart beat slow and steady against her cheek.

"Just a dream," she whispered, wrapping one arm around him. She tilted her face up to his and her hand drifted from where it rested on his cheek.

This hadn't been one of his normal nightmares. She had seen enough of them to recognize that. There had been no silent struggling or reliving of physical pain. No, this time had been different from his panicked, pain-racked cries and screams. This had been a more heart-felt, rather than white, blind-panicked fear—and somehow, because of that, it was deeper . . . and more human.

He had been afraid that she would leave him.

Lois's hand moved to traced the line of his jaw absently, following along the strong curve of his chin and nose and lips. She drew along his brow, her fingers warm as they brushed against his skin.

She actually thought she might be able to understand this one of Kal's nightmares better than his others. She always felt so helpless, standing with his remembered pain in sight. How could she comfort him, when the memories of agony were so real? When she knew that she would rather die than go through what he had to, though she probably wouldn't have had a choice and would have ended up dead simply from the pain, if not just plain mad from it.

He was so strong.

But to be alone—wasn't that what every single one of her dreams revolved around? She dreamed of him screaming—of her standing, alone and unnoticed, unable to comfort him, unable to touch him, unable to call to him. Of herself standing lost and alone in a white room. Of her struggling to reach his side as he gasped for help, only when she finally reached him and fell on his body he was cold and hard and pale—his eyes unseeing and unblaming, but somehow all the more accusing for _her_ because of it.

Fear of him tying her down and leaving her in a white room with empty words of comfort that it was 'for her own good.' Fear that he would fly off and leave her, taking away his colors and leaving her in a place of cold white and black and grey. Fear that he would take away all the warmth, all the innocence, all the hope—and leave her trapped more permanently—still alive, but already dead.

It was those dreams that made her wake up shivering and terrified, and cold. Those dreams—being so distanced and helpless and alone because he left her, one way or another—that haunted her nights.

She could understand this sort of dream.

It made sense, she thought, bringing her hand up to brush his dark hair from his pale brow. It made sense that he might be afraid of her leaving him too. Though she didn't know where he'd been—who he'd been with—and even though he'd tried to send her away again and again while they were trapped in the white room . . . she had seen through that. She had seen through his selfless exterior, and though at times she had wondered if Superman himself had realized how much he would lose if he left her, _she_ knew that he needed her.

And deep, deep down, where the stuff that dreams are made of pools together at times into dark currents and troubled waters, it seemed Superman knew that.

He was just as afraid as she was that he would lose her.

Somehow, that only made Lois feel warm and suddenly even more tired, as if she could allow herself the risk to relax with him there, with her. She smiled softly as her hand grow still, still gently tangled in his hair as her eyes began to drift shut towards warm, gentle, comforted, welcoming sleep.

Her eyelids drooped, but she still watched him as he vision grew dim.

It wasn't fair that a man could be so _beautiful, _Lois thought sleepily, already drifting well towards sleep. But then, she wasn't going to complain, she thought, cuddling closer to him against the slight chill that had entered the room.

He was so _perfect_, and all the more so because of his so-human hesitancies. The way he stuttered, when he blushed, when he said her name in that chiding, but loving way. He always found a way to cheer up her day, and make her relax and smile and laugh . . .

Her fingers ran through his hair slowly, the soft light that played off his raven hair mesmerizing in the shadows of the room. She fingered his famous curl in dreamy mistiness of thought, and drew his dark hair down around his face. She gave a sleepy smile that would have been a full-out giggle had she not felt conscious thought slipping away from her at that very moment.

He looked like an innocent little farm boy when he wore his hair like that—the thought came affectionately . . . foggily . . .

And then she stopped.

Her eyelids froze in the middle of that last, sinking blink, the sleepy gates opening as she stared, once again feeling caught between ridiculous, painful fantasy and stark, hard, cold reality.

_L-Lois, I'm Superman . . . _

Why would he say something like that? Of course she knew he was Superman. Why would he be telling _her_ such a thing?

With his hair like that, fluffed up and falling over his brow to hide his curl, he looked just exactly like . . .

_Clark Kent._

It was like running into a brick wall. It was like having a bucket of ice water dropped over her head. No—it was worse than that. Liquid nitrogen, perhaps, freezing her solid and snapping her mind into a stiff, solid thing threatening to chip, fall, and shatter into chaos and madness.

It didn't make sense.

It was impossible.

It was ridiculous.

It was _stupid. _

_But there it was, right before her eyes! _

She was still dreaming. Her mind had been thrown into a daze of white, and she couldn't think. She must be still dreaming.

She—couldn't—think—!!

The computer of her mind crashed most terribly and came up with a big white screen with absolutely nothing on it.

. . . . . . . . . BLANK . . . . . . . . . .

Lois stared. And stared, and stared.

_"L—Lo-is . . . " _

_"Lois, we need to talk." _

_"Lois, I need to tell you . . . " _

_"Lois, I'm Superman." _

_"Please forgive me." _

_"N-no. Lois . . . Don't leave me." _

_"I'm sorry." _

"Lois, I'm Superman."

_"Lois . . . " _

Lois swore mentally, desperately--though even that voice was weak as it really, truly, _finally_ hit her.

Kal-El was Clark Kent.

Clark Kent was Superman.

Superman was Clark Kent.

_Clark Kent is _Superman!

She felt suffocated, stifled. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Words and images tumbled in around her, completely overwhelming her conscious self beneath the stream of confusion.

_He was—Him! _

Clark Kent had saved her from Luthor's thugs the night before last. Clark Kent had saved her life more times than she could count.

Kal-El had worked beside her in a slightly too-large suit and a loud tie, stuttering, tripping, and generally just getting on her nerves.

Superman had left her all alone yesterday. She was _furious_ with him!

Clark Kent flew around in blue tights and a red cape.

Superman had sat outside her room last night with chocolates and flowers, waiting for her to come home. Superman had looked at her with those wide, hopeful eyes. Superman had watched her, day after day, with that glow of ridiculous farm boy crush shining in his dark eyes.

Clark Kent had been captured by Bureau 39.

Superman had traveled around the world, and had become a super man long before he had ever shown up in his now well-known suit. She knew. She had seen pictures of him in Africa, holding their thin little ones in arms that would one day lift the despairing world from its knees.

Clark Kent had been in the white room. Clark Kent had held her hand, day after day, trying so hard to be brave . . . for her. He had told her to go—to take herself away and move on without him. Clark Kent had sweated in agony and grown cold and weak and still after the fever of pain. He had bled, and cried . . .

Clark Kent was vulnerable to kryptonite.

Clark Kent had stopped breathing. Clark Kent had almost died, and Lois had felt as if she had almost died with him.

Lois felt vomit rising in her throat, but screwed up her eyes and swallowed the nausea. She choked on a weak sob, but bit her lip against it even as tears poured down her face.

_White lights, white walls, white fear and anguish and empty coldness. Green on Clark Kent's white face as he called for her amidst his agony. _

_"Lois . . . !" _

Kal-El!

_What had she done? _

Superman had been trying to talk to her, and she had brushed him aside carelessly.

She had pushed him away.

She had snapped at him and made him wince and cringe, and she hadn't given it a second thought.

She had insulted him to his face in both guises, and for some reason he had stayed with her.

He had been hurting, tired, uncertain, and Lois had done nothing but push him back down whenever he tried to lift his head from the hard, cold ground.

No wonder he had left her yesterday.

_"L-Lo-is . . ." _

How he had stuttered, and how his general nervousness had annoyed her so much!

And the first time he had come back to The Planet after his "rescue" . . . he had looked just _awful!_

And no wonder . . .

_Kal-El_.

And those other little things—things she had brushed off as nothing, or mere annoyances.

How he had flinched the couple of times she had come up behind him unnoticed. How he had been staring out the window, his eyes far, far away behind those cursed glasses of his—and dark. She had thought about taking the time to wonder what had brought that darkness into his eyes, but she hadn't actually done it. She hadn't taken the time to let it dawn on her why that guarded, yet so vulnerable expression on his face had caught her eye every time it appeared.

Now she knew.

_"S-sorry, Lois."_

Oh, curse it! They even _apologized_ the same way. She had noticed it, but had just thought she was going crazy.

And she had been crazy—just not in the way she had feared. She had been so focused on Superman that she didn't even realize that he was right in front of her the whole time.

. . . But it explained so much.

His terror when they had been cornered by the Primaries. How he had gone into that pale, frozen shock and looked like he was going to be sick. It had frustrated Lois to no end, then, as many things had, and she had brushed him off as a coward.

_Clark__ was Kal-El! _

How much she had missed! He hadn't been afraid of getting tossed in a little grey room and questioned again—no. He wasn't afraid of that at all.

He was afraid of white walls. He was afraid of hot red blood, of burning green pain . . . of being alone, of losing himself in that snarling beast of terror. Afraid of losing himself to the monster of fear and pain and inhumanity that Logram had created in his soul.

Lois knew. She woke up every morning to that very same fear.

Tears ran down her face and she held onto him, shaking. She went stiff as she felt him shift beneath her, and a strong and gentle hand moved to rest gently on top of her head.

"L-Lois," he murmured her name, and sounded as if he wasn't even close to fully awake. "It's just a dream. Sh. It's all right. I'm here."

His fingers slid gently through her hair, soothing her, even in his half-asleep state. Lois felt herself relax despite herself, and slowly his hand went still, still curled gently through Lois's hair as he drifted fully back to sleep again.

A silent tear dripped from her eye, trailed down her cheek, and slid from her face onto the material beneath her.

She loved him so much. But how must he feel about _her?_

Why hadn't he _told_ her? Why had he _left _her, and not even told her who he was?

But . . . he had been trying to tell her something. Had he been trying to tell her who he was? Had he been about to tell her the truth, again and again, only to be brushed off?

Lois felt sick. She had sworn to track down and bring to justice whoever dared hurt Superman even in the slightest way. And now she stopped and realized she might be one of the greatest culprits of all.

Maybe that was why he was hiding from her—because of how she treated him: so cold, when he needed more than ever love, support, human kindness.

What if he didn't want her to find out? Maybe once he found out she _knew—_he left her?

Lois felt a thrill of panic and tasted bile again.

No. No. She couldn't survive if he did. She couldn't survive if he left her.

But this was _Clark Kent_ she was talking about.

_Who cares? _her internal voice said sharply, sounding more than a little on edge. _Who cares what he calls himself?_

That was one of the details. So he was right—she didn't know him as well as she had thought she did. But did it matter what he called himself? She knew his heart. She knew how much a secret like this must have eaten at him.

She knew how terrified he must be, how hurt.

_Oh, Kal-El_.

She stopped at that thought. Kal-El? Or Clark Kent? It was a bit of a mental dilemma about what she should call him, even in her mind. What did _he _call himself?

Kal-El?

Clark Kent, the annoying, bumbling fool who Lois just got _sick _of sometimes?

Or did she have it all wrong?

Clark Kent, the man who's apartment she had invaded the night before. The man with the beaming smile, the shy love in his eyes, the naïve, cheerful disposition, who had a heart of gold, just like . . .

_Kal-El_.

_Superman_.

Deep down, who was Superman's true, secret identity? Who did he see himself as? The orphaned alien, or a farm boy from Kansas?

How much of his story was Lois completely oblivious to?

He had been right. How _stupid_ must she look to him, claiming to know him so well when he had been standing right beside her for months without even recognizing him!

And his stuttering, his nervousness . . . they hid a deeper fear.

_D-don't leave me, Lois. _

_I'm s-sorry . . . _

He was afraid she would leave him! Probably that she'd smash him down and leave him crushed—as crushed as she would be if he left her.

He was more vulnerable than anyone else realized, and it seemed he understood that, and it terrified him.

But she would never leave him! She would never ever ever get mad at him, even for this . . .

_Clark Kent!_

He had been a . . . friend? Yes, a friend! And he hadn't trusted her.

How _dare_ Clark keep something like this from her, and call himself a friend! Especially after all she'd done for him—after all they'd been through!?

_After all they'd been through . . . _

Kal-El. Clark. Superman.

She had just added to his misery. She'd hardly been a sympathetic ear or patient friend the past few days. She had known how uncertain and shattered his confidence was. She had soothed him out of his stutterings as Superman, understanding and loving him unconditionally. Giving him strength and confidence that he wasn't alone.

But to Clark . . .

He had been alone—even more alone than she was. At least she knew that Superman would be there for her, if he could, and that Clark Smallville Kent would stick by her no matter how much she ranted on him, even if he had to run off randomly now and then . . .

Clark had been all alone. Kal-El had been all alone, suffering beside her in silence.

Lois shut her eyes tight against the confusion. Her head was beginning to feel light and fuzzy, and she wondered vaguely if she was going into shock.

His disappearances. Oh, she was so stupid! He had run off to do superhero stuff, no doubt.

But why had he been gone so long the other day? She didn't remember reading of any massive disaster. But then again, "Superman" hadn't returned in his bright suit until late Saturday night, so he must have had to stay out of sight in doing . . . whatever he was doing.

Recharging, she hoped. He had looked _awful _Saturday morning before his disappearance—absolutely exhausted. She couldn't remember if he had looked any better later—she'd been too angry, but she thought he'd looked tired and maybe even more dejected then . . .

. . . Superman, waiting outside her door . . .

She willed herself away from that awful stab of guilt that struck right through the center of her being, making her shudder.

Guilt. Terrible, racking, deserving guilt. She couldn't dwell on it now.

She had to think.

It was no wonder he'd been tired that morning. He'd been running around all night pretending to be the Flash. And when she had told him her suspicions, he still hadn't said anything.

But he had.

_"L-Lois? R-remember how we were going to have lunch today? You know—so we could talk?" _

He hadn't looked her in the eye. He had been hiding something. And what a big something that was.

But he had been going to tell her! Surely, that's what he had been bringing up again and again since he got back from Smallville . . .

But why hadn't _he_ told her? No—not Clark. He'd been trying, and she hadn't given him the chance. But _Kal-El _had spent the whole evening with her, and hadn't made a single attempt to reveal such a secret.

_"Lois, I'm Superman."_

Clearly it had to have been on his mind, if he was having _nightmares_ about it. But perhaps the most significant part of the stuttering revelation was how he had spoken it, trapped deep within a dream.

"_I'm Superman_."

Not, "Lois, I'm Clark." No—he had clearly meant to tell her as Clark, no matter how downright dismissive she was towards the supposed farm boy.

_Why? _

The answer came along with the memory of those pictures of a twelve-year-old Superman at the country fair with his first-place cow.

Clark Kent was real.

He hadn't been created just for Superman.

He wasn't just a mask of made up uncertainties.

He was _real. _

But Jonathan and Martha hadn't _seemed_ Kryptonian, and Kal-El had said he was the last . . . And she still thought she could trust him, at least on that. He was still Superman, and Superman didn't lie.

He was Clark Kent, who valued honesty just as much.

Lois just couldn't see Clark Kent's down-to-earth, farmer parents flying around, with or without a suit like Superman's.

Of course, even now she had problems thinking of Clark Kent in a suit like that, even while she was lying right beside the very image. But still . . . she just didn't see Jonathan Kent as Superman's father.

That crossed out an idea that had been slowly developing in the corner of her mind. No—Jonathan Kent had not been killed by some accidental exposure to Kryptonite. It had been just what Clark said it was—a heart attack.

_A heart attack brought on by fear for his son? _

Or was their relationship just some sort of deal that they had made with Kal-El so he could live some semblance of real life as he worked his miracles?

No. She had seen him and his parents interact. And the pictures. The pictures showed how long he had been there. Lois had seen some even before that shot in the country fair. She had seen a five-year-old standing proud at the side of his farmer father, hefting a rake twice as tall as he was.

The little spaceship. He _must_ have come on it, after all. He had _lied _to her.

Of course he had. They'd been on camera—their every action watched by the cold, sleepless, inhuman eye. If Lex got even a hint that Clark Kent was none other than Superman . . .

_No_.

The thought made her feel ice cold, and she shivered and drew herself closer to him.

He had seemed to have known so little about himself—even from where his powers had come. He hadn't known his own biology, even in the slightest. He hadn't had the answers until he had received this mysterious hologram thing from his alien—no, he hated that word—_biological _father.

So that was it. Clark Kent was more than just real. Somehow, he was the most real part of the being that made up Superman.

Lois shook her head. Perhaps he had been, but she had seen deeper than Clark Kent in the white room. She had seen Him.

A mixture, or perhaps the purest element from which sprouted Clark Kent and Kal-El alike.

Did it matter what he called himself? Did it make any difference at all?

She had been blind. She had been a fool. She had been an idiot.

Hehad been afraid, pushed away, uncertain. And for good reason.

Had he been born with those sorts of powers? How lonely and uncertain growing up most have been for him, and since his move to Metropolis, that part of him had been hunted, hated, and caught and tortured by members the race that had unknowingly adopted him. His other side had been ignored, degraded, pushed aside . . .

No matter how many people loved him, the scars left from wounds from human cruelty were countless times harder to forget than those from nature.

She may not be happy that he had hid the truth from her, but really . . . how could she blame him? She knew him—knew his reasons, his doubts, his fears—too well to hold it against him.

But this was _Clark Kent._

She loved Superman. She loved Kal-El. She had known it in the core of her being since the white room, since she had seen the raw, primal beauty of his heart when all safety of society was torn away.

She had known that he was not perfect, but she had loved him anyway. She had accepted him as an extraordinary man, no matter the trials that sort of thing might bring—and had already brought. But now it was different than that. Besides just being an extraordinary being that seemed so human, the strange thought crossed Lois's mind that she couldn't see her partner as anything but just a man—though now with extraordinary abilities. A sometimes terribly clumsy, annoyingly naïve, perturbingly annoying man.

Clark Kent.

To think of Kal-El like that made Lois's heart melt. She loved him so much. Those pieces of humanity and uncertainty only made her love him more.

But if she had considered her feelings for Kent only hours before, she would have laughed at the thought of ever feeling more for him than a big sister feels for an awkward little brother—protective and tolerating.

_Could she love Clark Kent?_

_Could she ever _stop_ loving Kal-El, even if she wanted to?_

Would she ever get the chance to explore either, now?

Her tears had long since dried over the bright colors of his S, and she at last got the courage to look at his face again, for the first time in long minutes—in an eternity.

Could he forgive her? Could she strengthen the shaky trust towards her that made Clark hold back this truth?

Or was she doomed to lose him, after all they had been through?

Shaking, Lois reached both arms around him and held him close. No matter if he was Clark Kent from Smallville, Kal-El from Krypton, or just a superhero running around in blue tights in a red cape . . .

No matter how stupid, thoughtless, and idiotic it was for him to hide from her . . .

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much a part of her wanted to cry, and scream, and tear . . .

_She _couldn't_ lose him now. _

"Su . . . " Lois trailed off, her voice still thick from crying. "K . . . Cl . . . " She took a shaking breath and uttered a soft oath as she buried her face in his warm chest again. She didn't care who he was. She didn't care about Kal-El, Clark, Superman . . . Right now all she cared about that _he—_the man she loved—was there with her. The rest could wait. The world could wait, because beside this . . . nothing else mattered. "Don't leave me. P-please . . . just don't leave me."

--------------------------

_Don't leave me . . . _

Clark woke up from a nightmare with a start. He opened his eyes, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling through the white walls that had closed in around his mind.

_Where was he?_ The thought was filled with more than a little panic. He began to sit up sharply, but even as he began to move, he froze at the feel of a warm weight lying close to him.

_Lois. _

For a moment he just stared at her, her arms wrapped around him gently. Tear marks stained her cheeks, and Clark felt a pang of guilt. She had been dreaming, too.

He brushed a trembling hand across her cheek, showing himself that she was real—that she was here. He let the dreams fade away, and let the terror and dread go after them, as best as he could.

Her cheek was cold. The rain had stopped, leaving only the soft, occasional pitter or patter of droplets that fell from the gutter onto Lois's balcony. But the air had a definite chill to it.

Clark slipped out of Lois's embrace, both regretful at the loss of her warmth and ashamed at himself.

He shouldn't have fallen asleep like that. For the second time since he'd returned to Metropolis, he'd just drifted off with little to say on the matter.

It just wasn't right, in Clark's book—he'd been raised to know it wasn't. But he didn't think either of them had meant for it to happen, though no doubt Lois would call him naïve and sheltered for thinking such a thing. No, he amended. That's what she would tell Clark Kent. If Superman expressed such a thing, she'd probably apologize instead.

He laid her comfortably on the couch, willing her not to wake. She shivered, though whether it was from the cold or the loss of human contact—_alien _contact, Clark corrected again—he couldn't say.

He should go. But he couldn't leave yet. He stood there, watching her in the dim light that filtered in through the tiny slits between her drawn curtains. Metropolis was never truly dark, not with the streetlamps and city lights. Now that dim light brushed against Lois's dark hair, her brow, and crossed her lips as she shifted slightly, sighing in her sleep as her brow furrowed.

Clark turned away, rubbing his eyes to clear the last remnants of sleep. His feet lifted off the floor just an inch as he floated towards Lois's room—not wanting to risk waking her with the sound of his footsteps. He drifted into her room, his cape waving softly behind him as he looked for a blanket to drape over her before he left.

The large comforter thrown over the bed seemed acceptable. Clark stepped over and took hold of it to take into the living room, but as he gathered it a smooth, red piece of fabric tangled within the sheets caught his attention. The comforter was laid back on the bed as he reached forward and felt a chill.

It was his cape—the whole torn, faded, and still horribly stained scarlet length of it.

What was it doing in her bed?

The question was, of course, completely inane. She had been sleeping with it—bundling it up close to her pillow—close to her face, to her heart.

Clark wasn't sure if he could use words to describe how he felt as the implications of that.

It couldn't be healthy, harboring such a thing as that. It should be thrown away, burned, lost—forgotten like the nightmare of the white room.

But she had kept it. Cherished it. Tried to clean it, clearly, and _slept _with it.

Her only companion after awaking from the terror-filled nightmares that Clark knew all too well.

Her only _comfort_, when the very sight of it made him go cold and still.

Clark stilled as his superhearing caught the sound of Lois shifting on the couch in the other room. He carefully folded the old cape and set it back on the bed.

There was a gasp and Lois's heart rate shot up so quickly that it made Clark twitch.

"Kal-El!" she gasped out his name, jumping up from the couch and looking around frantically. "Cl—Superman!"

_Oh, no. He had left her. He had really left her._

Clark sped towards her, catching her as she almost tripped right over her coffee table in her sudden panic. He carefully helped her sit back on the couch, trying to help her lie back down. "Sh. Sh," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face as his hand found hers automatically in the darkness. "It's okay, Lois, it's just a dream."

But it had not been a dream. Lois had woken up to find Superman gone. To find herself alone. Her hand trembled, but she held onto him with her firmest grip, and just stared in the shadowed light. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, and though he appeared alert in his concern, his eyes were still tired.

_Clark_

_Superman._

Him

His hand was on the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with gentle care as his dark eyes watched her closely. "Are you okay?"

That was Clark's voice, but soft and gentle and warm—it wrapped around her, burrowed into her heart, and cuddled up to stay. His love filled the empty hollow that had echoed silence for days of eternal length.

"I-I'm okay," she said. As if her words broke a spell, his hand withdrew, and she felt cold air brush across her cheek in his absence. He straightened, but didn't move for a long moment, standing like a dark and somber shadow against the window behind him.

"I . . . I'm sorry I fell asleep." That was definitely Clark, Lois recognized, despite the attempt to put in a stronger tone. He was nervous, awkward—as would be expected. No doubt he was flushed bright red, if she could see him in proper light. He was innocent that way—embarrassed.

But Lois should be, too. She had just slept for hours with none other than Clark Smallville Kent.

Clark Krypton Kent?

Kal-El Smallville Kent?

Superman Smallville?

Lois shook her head.

She had fallen asleep next to Clark, but it had also been Kal-El. Superman. And she was fine with that.

She was so _confused._

"Thank you, Lois."

Lois was jerked out of her cycling, confused thoughts with a jolt of panic when he turned to the window.

She jumped to her feet. "Wait!" She didn't want him to go. Not now. Not yet. "Where are you going?"

Clark was tired despite the restful sleep. He needed sunlight, and now that he could fly and the world was quiet, for now, he was going to get some.

"East."

Lois glanced at the clock. It was 4:17 am. She gave him a small smile, knowing he could see her in the dark. "Breakfast?" she asked with shaky humor. She didn't want to make him feel awkward, but . . .

_Clark Kent needed sunlight instead of food? Considering how much he ate, Lois was honestly surprised. _

He smiled slightly at that. "I suppose so."

"Take me with you."

His eyes flickered. Lois waited with bated breath.

"Please." It was not pleading. She couldn't let herself plead in front of Kent . . . but . . .

"Please," she repeated softly, her eyes unwavering in his. _Please_.

Curse her stubborn pride. It was that that had gotten her into this mess--that had blinded her so long.

She would beg. She would beg on bended knees if she had to, as long as he didn't leave her.

He stepped forward slowly and put a hand on her arm. "Okay," he said softly.

They stepped toward the window and he opened it carefully, letting the damp, dark air of the night breathe into the room.

His arms went around her—awkward, clumsy, bumbling reporter arms wrapping around her gently like security itself—as if he had never held a more precious burden.

With a slight push-off, Lois Lane took to the skies for the first time with Clark Kent.

How did he do it? How did he fly? How was it that Lois felt only the slightest brush of cold from the high air as they flew over Hobb's Bay? The rain had stopped, but the air was damp and chill. How did the wind not rip at her while the shore passed so quickly behind them?

He was a miracle.

The blackness of the ocean glimmered like polished, chipped obsidian, fading to a grey stone as they rose into the clouds until the mist encircled them and all that was left was the dampened grey, blue, red, and yellow of his suit and his clear eyes as he continued upwards, his eyes focused on something beyond Lois's sight.

They broke through the top of the clouds like passing through a curtain into the open air.

The sky was pure—perfect, black. The sea of grey clouds rolled beneath them as they passed quickly by, the waves cresting and shifting in the currents of the breeze. The stars shone above them, brighter than ever, flawless and clear against the eternal darkness.

Lois shut off her questioning mind, simply cuddling close to him—holding him. Her mind was yet foggy from sleep, and so she was content, for now, simply to drift and let him carry her in his arms.

She was content to be content. She would think and worry later.

Lois wasn't sure how far they had gone, but after some time the clouds slowly faded away into wisps of passing grey cotton. The stars began to fade behind the veil of a distant light, and the clouds gained a border of soft gold against grey turned silver.

And then, like a wave of perfect light, the sun peaked over the curve of the world and enveloped them.

Lois was left breathless from the sight.

Clark slowed almost unconsciously, shutting his eyes even against as the sunlight permeated his whole being. He rolled slowly, soaking it up, and his skin grew warm beneath Lois's.

"It's beautiful," Lois breathed, the slight wind flicking her hair from her face as they came to an almost complete stop in the air.

Clark opened his eyes slowly, the sun itself seeming to glow from the depths of his eyes as he looked at the light that would blind a normal human if they met the sun's sight eye-to-eye.

Clark had always loved to catch sunrises. The first time he had seen it from the sky he had flown away from it and watched it again, and again, and again—he had enjoyed over three dozen sunsets in only a few minutes, and even now, after seeing countless such sights . . . it never ceased to thrill him.

And now he was able to share that with Lois.

"It is," he said simply. It was enough. His gentle hand that slid between them to take hers as they slowly turned around spoke more than any words could convey.

They had seen darkness. They had seen terrible, lifeless white.

This was beauty. This was life.

They turned towards the west, and in seconds had caught up with the line of the dawn that glimmered against the deep blue ocean far below. They floated along it, drifting above the line that divided night from day—surfing the wave of dawn on the crest of light above the world.

Clark—Kal-El—Superman—rolled onto his back, floating like a sleeping man, and Lois lay on his chest, letting the cool wind catch gently at her hair as she rested her head just beneath his chin. She shut her eyes and lost herself in timeless freedom of the sky.

She didn't know if she fell asleep in that position, or if she just drifted in that beautiful space between reality and dream, but it seemed far too short a time had passed until His hand moved to her shoulder, causing her to open her eyes and look at him. She was surprised that the first face she saw, there, was Clark's—open, relaxed, though his smile was soft. He seemed to completely glow, with the thinning white clouds beneath him framing his face as the sun danced in his dark hair. His eyes were tender, and he smiled gently at her.

"We're back," he said softly, as if speaking too loud might wake them both from the dream in which they floated.

He was right. Between the clouds beneath them Lois could see glimpses of buildings and the bay, the water and windows reflecting the light of the sun alike, glimmering like unworldly symbols to welcome them home. He shifted her in his arms, turning downward, and his eyes narrowed as he swept the city.

_Seeing everything. Hearing everything._

Clark Kent.

Finding everything safe enough, he dropped down suddenly, so quickly that Lois's breath caught in a soft gasp. A moment later he had opened her apartment window and was gently setting her bare feet down on the carpet.

"S-sorry," he said with a slight smile, though his eyes were uncertain. "I didn't want anyone to see us, so I came down a little faster than usual."

"That's all right, I understand," Lois said quickly. She did understand the danger. It wasn't safe.

Clark Kent wouldn't be safe, if . . .

She took his hand, and their eyes met, but they didn't say anything.

"I—I need to go," he said, though the words were reluctant and he didn't make any move to follow through with his words, which Lois was just fine with that. She didn't want him to go either.

But of course he needed to go. It was already past 6:30. He usually arrived at the Daily Planet before she came in at eight. Of course, he could probably get ready a lot faster than she could, but who knows what else he needed to do before he went to his job at the Daily Planet? Besides, _she_ needed to get ready, and to type up the article that Perry would be after her with an army.

"Okay," she said. But she didn't move either.

The sun wasn't high enough to make its way between the tall buildings that sided Lois's apartment, but the glow of it reflected off stone and glass and asphalt and into Lois's apartment and shone in both their eyes like memories of the riding on the current of morning.

Lois didn't know who moved first. But slowly, ever so slowly, their faces drew close forward, and their lips brushed against each other in a gentle, loving kiss.

It was not desperate. It was not frantic, needing, demanding. It was not what the world would consider passionate. It did not explode in the feeling of fireworks, or of electricity, or of a shock of sudden love which left them dazed, or heat that burned into their very heart.

No. It was like the glow of the morning sun, sinking into both of their souls—seeping into their veins and every particle of their being. It was the perfect, comforting warmth of trust and belonging and love, and the power of it caused tears to rise in Lois's eyes as she pulled away slowly and looked at him again.

Hislips were parted slightly, and she was surprised to find his eyes oddly bright with moisture as well from the effect.

"Goodbye, Lois," he whispered, reaching up to brush her hair from her face in a familiar motion. "Thank you."

_No! She didn't want him to go! Even for a moment . . . _

But she would see him soon. She knew she would.

"Thank you," Lois said, her soft voice shaking slightly. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the damp, cool air of the morning for the first time. "I—I'll see you later."

He hesitated then, for the barest moment, as if deciding whether to say something—and Lois knew what it was that hovered before his suddenly shadowed eyes. His eyes flickered—with fear, with guilt, with doubt tainting that perfect love from a moment before. Lois's heart sank, though it just confirmed what she had already realized.

_Clark_ really was going to be the one to tell her.

He smiled one last time at her, then shot out the window and disappeared.

Lois blinked at where he had stood just moments before, feeling his absence as if he had flown off with a part of her still with him. She shivered, and walked forward slowly to stare up at the strip of sky that was visible between the buildings.

_She'd see him soon_.

TBC . . .

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!


	42. Just Another Day

I'm BAAAAACK!!!!!!!!!

/runs around the room cheering wildly, then plops back down at her computer/

And boy is it good to be back! For those who haven't been following the rumor mill around the other sites I post DD on around the 'net, the past few weeks (oh, Valar--has it really been a month?!) have been insane with college projects and all sorts of craziness. Not to mention that spring has finally come, and seeing as I love trees and nature as much as I love my laptop (which is saying something), I have to admit that I've been both swamped and thoroughly distracted--not a good combination in hindsight to keeping on top of this story.

But here I am. Hopefully you are half as glad as I am that this chapter is being posted, because that means that all you new readers that have come along during my long absence (and you very kind, friendly folks who's reviews have supported me so far!) can spare a couple minutes to drop me a quick note.

Please?

And oh my goodness! So many lovely reviews from the last chapter, everyone! Thanks a ton!

Smithcrafter---Holy monkeys! You read the whole thing in one day? You realize this is longer than, like, FOTR at his point, right:D Well, that just made my day. I'm so glad you're liking it! Thanks for BOTH your reviews!

1truelove--thanks for your review. I'm just glad the whole revelation thing was able to be pulled off like that, and that people enjoyed it. It's hard to think of a good, original reveal scene these days!

Delia Ra'Nar--Hello! I'm sorry that your begging for another chapter went so long unheeded--it wasn't intentional, I assure you. I'm glad you're liking the characterizations, and, yes--there is a fair bit of movie-influence creeping into this story now and again. Once I wrap up this fic, in fact, I'm thinking about starting to branch the gap between LnC and the movie-verse. We'll just have to see what happens, eh? Thanks for your review!

gonnabfamous07--blushes furiously Thank you so much! I'm sooo glad that everyone seemed to like the last chapter. Heaven knows I was nervous about it, seeing as it was sooo long coming!! Thanks for your review!

KC-Piper-Fan--I'm a sucker for sunrises myself. I'm quite glad Lois knows too. Things can finally start happening, eh? Thanks for your review!

Fondued Jamaica--Oh, hello! You had a review over on my other posting of this story, didn't you? Well, double thanks to you, then! Your review was very detailed and positively tickles me to read. I'm so glad everything worked for you! Thanks again!

Divamercury--Double thanks to you too! I always appreciate your support!

oneredneckgoddess--Sorry the update came so late, but at least it's here, eh? I hope you like it! Thanks for your review.

blah125--Hehee. Your enthusiasm in your last review just makes me giggle. It makes my day to know that you guys are liking what I'm putting out here. Thank you so much for your review!

Thank you again everyone!

And NOW . . . on with the story!!

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Chapter 42: Just Another Day

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Lois stepped down the street towards The Daily Planet. The parking area beneath the building was under construction, so she had parked a couple blocks away and was walking the remaining distance to work. She walked slowly, preoccupied over an old article that felt as old as time, or maybe even older. She lowered it, not hearing, not seeing the morning rush around her. She was just thinking. The crowds on the damp, dark-grey sidewalk poured around her easy step without a pause in the constant flow.

Someone bumped into her, hard, almost knocking the paper and her purse from her hands before rushing off without a word. Lois didn't glare, didn't say anything, but just shifted her grip on her things and kept walking, too caught up in her thoughts to care about the uncaring jostling of the Metropolis morning sidewalks.

Details, details. So many meant nothing. So many meant everything in the world, like a pair of glasses and a hair style.

It was amazing how much a person could change over such a short amount of time, she realized, looking around at the unchanged world around her. It was odd. Superman walked among them, but they were oblivious to it. More, Superman _was_ one of them, and nobody noticed it. Lois's world had been shaken to its roots once again, and nothing else seemed to have changed.

Just her.

She felt so old, but no longer broken. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she needed, and she had come to realize how little the details, no matter how furious they might have made her not so long ago, could mean nothing.

She would take the risk of everything, because if she didn't have him, nothing else mattered.

She looked back down at the article in her hand—the article she and Clark had written together just before the chaos of being caught, those not-so-many weeks ago.

The article they had written about Bureau 39—and both of them _had_ written it, though Clark had requested his name stayed out of the byline and remain unnamed in the article itself, and now she understood why. There it was—everything they had known about the crazy, mad-minded ex-government agent Trask, who had mistakenly taken Clark and Superman to be the same person. How he had claimed to have found that once-thought imaginary crystal that Clark had chosen to name Kryptonite, and how Trask and Clark had actually _fought, _fist to fist.

How much had Lois missed?

When she and Clark had been staying with the Kents, she had come downstairs and found him sitting at the table, looking pale and just plain _awful_. Allergies, they had brushed it off as. Allergies! Allergies to grass, in a farm boy who had been raised in the middle of Cornville, Kansas, and who had never had the slightest sniffle in the months that Lois had known him.

He must have been exposed, somehow, Lois thought with a chill.

And he had mentioned it, in the white room. _Last time_, he had said, and she had realized that he had come into contact with the cursed crystal before.

No wonder he had looked so awful.

She remembered vaguely, now, how he had gotten a paper cut, and seemed so surprised at the sight of his own blood.

They had both seen plenty of it, now.

Too much.

Lois shivered, her step slowing further and causing someone behind her to push by with a curse to her that passed her by without touching her.

Clark—Superman—had been so innocent, so confident, so _invulnerable_, even then, knowing he had a weakness. He'd thrown himself into a fight against a madman when he was already weakened, just to protect the people who had taken him in. His parents. His family.

He would have died for them all, if it had been necessary.

And Trask had actually _known. _

_He had known that Clark Kent was Superman._

That thought made her come to a complete stop, staring into the distance over the countless heads of heedless people around her.

Clark had been vulnerable. Trask had been trying to kill _him_, as well as his parents, because he was an _alien_. He had almost shot Superman in the back, and would have, had not the sheriff shot him first.

Lois realized, right then, that she felt absolutely no sadness that the shot had been true, straight, and fatal.

If Trask had lived, he would have talked.

If he had lived, Lex would have been one of the first to find out the truth.

It was bad enough how things had played out, but if Lex had known the truth . . .

_The truth_.

How could she have been so blind—and missed so much?

Across the street, as unnoticed as Lois herself, a tall, dark-haired, big-suited man bumbled along the sidewalk, keeping what seemed to be a constant stream of apologies for every set of toes he trod on and every bag or shoulder he bumped, though, of course, none of his apologies were paid any heed as people rushed along.

After a restful night and the early flight in the sun, Clark felt physically as good as he could remember being. The last vestiges of sleepiness had vanished, and there was a slight bounce to his step as he made his way forward. The clouds had finally parted over Metropolis, and the morning sun was breaking through in all its glory through the scattered whiteness against the broad expanse of blue sky. He strode along the way to work, having chosen to walk rather than fly. Sometimes it was great just to get out and walk among them…to just be normal, for a little bit.

Even his guilt for the perfect night and consequential flight was kept firmly at bay after a short list of flawless rescues.

He was going to tell her.

Today.

It didn't matter _what_ happened. Enough had gone between him and Lois. In a moment of weakness he had even let himself _kiss _her.

_What wonderful weakness . . . _

But how much more angry, how much more betrayed, was that going to make her feel when it all came down to it?

He clenched his slightly shaking hands and stuffed them into his pockets with firm determination.

Today.

_Today . . . _

She was going to kill him.

Or worse, she was going to hate him. Distrust him. Push him away. And for good reason.

All for a good reason.

Lois was blameless in this. How could he expect her to see who he was, when he truly did act so differently in his guises? How could he expect her to give Clark Kent the time of day when she had already sacrificed so much for the man that she claimed—and truly so, Clark feared—to love? How could he blame her after she had saved his life and not slowed in her pursuit to help him for all these terrible, dark, lonely weeks?

How could he blame her when he knew it was his fault that she shivered and cried in her sleep, and charged into work so tired yet heedless day after day? When he knew how much his not telling her was going to hurt her?

Why had he waited this long? His father would be ashamed of him. True, Jonathan Kent had been hesitant to think of letting _anyone _into his secret, but after everything Lois had done for him, no doubt his dad would be disappointed to know that Clark just hadn't been able to speak those three fateful words.

_Lois, I'm Superman. _

Lois . . .

How could he forgive him for this, after everything she'd done for _him_?

He may have saved her life time and time again, but she had saved him more completely than from a metal bullet, or from a mortal end.

She had saved him from a life worse than death. She had protected his heart and given him back his humanity when that had all been stripped away, and saved him time and time again since then, every time he saw her face . . .

Could she forgive him, when he finally told her?

_Heaven help him. _

He stuffed his thoughts in a bag and pushed them deeper into his mind.

It didn't matter. Fear or consequences be cursed to darkness, today he was going to tell her, and he wasn't going to let uncertainty ruin his thus-far perfect morning.

Perhaps luck would smile upon him today.

_Not like it had these past few weeks. _

Perhaps Lois wouldn't reject him.

_Not like she had, time after time, again and again, whenever he—Clark Kent—tried to speak to her.. _

Perhaps today they would find a lead on Lex Luthor's activities.

O_f white rooms, and fear, and death . . ._

Perhaps today he would be able to fly home to Smallville and visit his mother and . . .

_Not his father_.

Clark flinched, bumping against someone else and this time not quite managing an apology. He didn't remember being optimistic ever being so _difficult_, when every good thought was tainted by memory and fear.

No. He couldn't let it. He couldn't let Trask, Logram, Luthor defeat him, after everything.

He had had enough bad luck. He would be careful. It was his time for fortune's good will, after everything.

Lois wouldn't betray him. He knew that as well as he knew his heart. She may hate him, but perhaps eventually he could win back into her good graces.

He could survive. She'd come back to him.

She had to.

Luthor had crossed the line in sending his thugs after Lois. The fiery woman-reporter had the right idea—it was time to end this, before Luthor could do any more hurt to the world.

His father wouldn't want him to falter at every thought of his memory. His father would want him to be happy, for his memory to guide him . . . Memories of laughter, and comfortable work side-by-side, and by companionship and that wonderful feeling of belonging.

A slow, cautious smile grew on Clark's face, and it grew on itself until he caught a man's passing glare at his grin, and he lifted his hand and gave him a cheerful wave.

"M-morning," he said.

The man looked at him disgustedly (he probably hadn't had his morning coffee yet, Clark reasoned sympathetically), and pushed by. Clark apologized as he bumped against him and continued forward, beginning to whistle softly to himself and ignoring the annoyed stares he received from the early birds around him.

City people were so _funny_ sometimes . . .

But wait…

He looked up. He could hear her heart beating, not too far away.

Lois. Walking. Just walking, though quite a bit slower than her usual rushed pace, and she looked pensive. Just walking, and she already took his breath away.

He remembered to breathe, and lifted a hand to wave at her. "Hi Lois!" he called, hoping she would hear him from across the crowded street, and hoping even more that she wouldn't still have that betrayed anger in her eyes from the last time he had talked to her as Clark.

Lois felt her heart wrench at the sound of his voice. She looked up sharply, almost running face-on into a man pushing his way past her.

It didn't take long for her to find him. He was tall, waving enthusiastically in a way that _nobody _did these days, and was grinning—almost that perfect, unreserved grin that she remembered from before the white room.

Superman. Standing in a crowd dressed in a three-piece work suit and waving like a complete, geeky, farm boy bumpkin.

It was insane.

She looked at him, and after a brief hesitation actually waved back, and couldn't help but flash him a grin of her own.

It was _wonderful_ to see him. And she wouldn't have to take her eyes off of him all day . . . .

She could afford to be selfish and enjoy it, knowing that she was close to _him_. After all of his secrecy, she deserved at least that.

"Hi Clark!" Kal-El, Superman. Good morning to all three of them.

Clark blinked, startled by the _very_ merry reception from Lois Lane, who was famed for her lack of pleasantries in the morning. A smile worked its way back onto his face.

She was smiling—probably an aftereffect of her very unusual night, Clark thought, though he didn't feel the usual slight bitterness or grumbling when Superman made Lois happy where he, Clark Kent, couldn't.

It was just being with _her_ that made both sides of him happy. Why should he begrudge that Superman made her happy in turn?

And maybe, because of that, she wouldn't be able to turn him away so easily, though that thought came with no little guilt.

This was worse than politics, when a passed bill could pass a hundred piggy-backing statements at the same time.

How disappointing would the trailing details of Clark Kent drag on Lois, once she found out?

Clark grimaced. He didn't want to think about that. Not right now. Some things, he had learned, just shouldn't be thought about unless you wanted to be dragged far into memory and fear and doubt.

Clark started across the street towards her, dodging around cars cram-packed in the rush-hour traffic of grumpy Metropolians on their way to work. He couldn't take his eyes from her, even for a second.

There was a loud curse, and brakes screeched on still-damp pavement.

Lois felt her heart jolt, her mind freeze. Clark blinked in the middle of the road, feeling the air as the taxi swerved right towards him.

He didn't take time to think, but just moved. Even as it was, he brushed against the bumper as he jumped out of the way, leaving a very permanent dent as the car bumped to a stop.

Clark blinked at the man in the car, down at the dent on the bumper, forcing himself not to go pale.

Darn.

_Not_ just darn. Had anyone seen him? He didn't know, and couldn't stand there as he looked around quickly. Instead, he focused on the other side of the street—on Lois. He had to get out of there.

What Lois Lane could do to Superman. Slow him down enough so that he was no longer faster than a speeding bullet—but slower than a braking taxi.

Clark grimaced and hurried across the rest of the street, ignoring the honks and curse words that followed his crossing.

Lois had frozen rod-stiff. She paused for a moment, blinking at where Clark had stood for a moment, before he had seemingly appeared about two feet to the side.

She looked at him as he strode towards her with yet another nerdy wave, his smile still bravely there, but shaky enough that it looked held there by a very delicate thread.

_A bit distracted today, Superman?_

Careless, that was what. He should be more careful.

_Idiot _man.

But the way he had _moved. _He had been just _there_, and then . . . somewhere else.

It was one thing for her to realize that her very normal work partner was a superhero. It was quite another to see it with her own eyes.

What would have she thought, if she hadn't figured it out the night before? Would she just have thought it some fault in her vision, or blame it on her apparent insanity once again?

_Had anyone else seen him? _a sudden panicked, frantic voice demanded. Lois looked around quickly, but no one seemed to have noticed—not even the taxi driver, who looked irate and red in the face from cursing, but hadn't gotten out of his car—content as long the tall, bumbling idiot had been lucky enough not to get dragged right under his wheels.

But what if someone _had_ seen him?

Clark was still coming. Lois swallowed.

Natural. Look natural. Normal.

Normal. What would she say to Clark? What would she say if he _wasn't_ Superman, and had just risked his safety because of a moment's carelessness? If he _wasn't _the man she was in love with, and who she had parted with only a few hours earlier?

Normal. Normal normal normal.

Right.

" Clark," Lois called dryly. "Ever heard of crosswalks?" Good. That was normal.

"Yeah," Clark stuttered. "B-but, you know, I mean—"

Stuttering. He was pale, and he glanced back across the busy street and tugged at his tie a bit. No doubt he knew very well the risk he had just taken.

_He needed to be more careful._

It didn't look like anyone was watching—it didn't look like anyone had noticed.

_But someone could have! _

Righteous, protective anger. That was a normal emotion, a normal tone to use towards her partner.

Her partner. Superman.

Clark. She should be ranting at him, lecturing him about crossing the street . . .

Lecturing Superman about the dangers of crossing the street. Right.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?"

_Kal-El, do you realize how stupid that was? _

_Clark__, you've been hiding all this time. Haven't you learned to be more careful? _

_Lex, Logram, Trask, the Primaries . . . Who knew who was watching?_

But he had been busy coming to her. Busy watching her. He hadn't even noticed the car before it was too late.

Lois felt a little bird fluttering in her chest at that, but she shushed it, though not too firmly.

It was just like the time he had been lured in to the kryptonite. He had been too focused on her.

Too focused on her. He had been careless. He needed to be careful.

That was going to be one of the first things they talked about, Lois decided, adding it to a list that had been growing steadily since quite early that morning.

"Uh, y-yeah," he said, beginning to walk forward so she had to step quickly to catch up with his long strides. He glanced back briefly towards the traffic-congested street, then ducked his head and moved forward, mumbling apologies as he went.

He _did _realize, Lois realized with a sick jolt. He knew exactly what had just happened, and it terrified him. He didn't need her attacking him on the point—not now, at least.

So she could forgive him, for now, and rant about it to him later.

"Good," Lois said, not letting her voice get _too_ soft. She took a deep breath, taking a step to come beside him as his he slowed his steps as the place of his _accident_ fell behind them. Her voice grew firm. "Listen, Clark. I'm sorry about Saturday night, but you have to admit you had it coming."

Clark winced, not looking at her, and his dark hair fell over to partially obscure his eyes. She wanted to reach over and push it away for him—Kal-El didn't seem to like it when his hair fell into his eyes . . . But then, that might just be the Superman image he had to keep up.

Was it? How did he _really_ like his hair?

For some reason the question bothered her, and she moved it near the top of her list of questions, ridiculous as it seemed.

"I . . . Y-you're right," he said, then paused, grimacing slightly as Lois could tell from the small angle of his face as he looked back the way they had come again . . . Watching the taxi that had bumped against him back there, perhaps? He surely could still see that far—he was Superman after all . . . He sighed, reached up to push his glasses up on his nose, and straightened, almost squaring his shoulders as he looked at her with those perfect dark eyes of his. "I _am_ sorry, Lois," he said carefully, meeting her eyes.

The way he said it gave her a warm thrill, as if he had just barely decided to tell her who he was, but without words. That was a stronger voice—there was no stutter, no wobble of nervousness, though it was clear that he had taken some special care to make sure there hadn't been.

Why?

What was he doing, and why? He had been stuttering terribly just last Saturday, the last time she had seen him as _Clark_

She walked through the revolving doors, with Clark close on her heels and apologizing softly as he pressed too close to her in the small space.

_That was so intentional, Krypton, _she thought wryly as they came out of the confined space and into the lobby.

"I—I mean, when I realized I still had your keys . . . " Clark continued.

_Don't remind me_, Lois thought with a spike of hot fury.

He had _better_ have a good excuse, or Kal-El or no, he was going to get the lecture of his life. Running off for a rescue was one thing, but taking the keys and leaving her abandoned for hours without transportation was quite another.

"So . . . I—I'm sorry," he repeated, catching a glance of the less-pleasant expression that had come over her face.

"Don't apologize," she said, a bit more sharply than she had intended as they walked into the shadow of The Daily Planet. Clark flinched the slightest bit, but his expression didn't change but for a slight flicker in his eyes, followed by determination. It actually made Lois feel better. He really _couldn't _let everything get to him, she realized, and he certainly internalized far too much. All of her observations of Clark Kent had certainly not been wrong—he took everything far too personally. But then again, Superman had too, he just hadn't shown it as much.

It looked like some of Superman's strength was being drawn into Mr. Smallville. That was just fine with Lois.

_Just take care of yourself. _

Lois took a deep breath. "You said you have an explanation this time, and I'm going to hear it today at lunch, so you'd better not run off again."

And if he _did _have to run off, she'd wait. And she'd keep waiting until he came back.

Today.

There had been enough hiding.

There would be no more running away.

She reached forward to push the elevator button, but then realized that Clark had stopped a couple steps behind her, and had an all-to-familiar, nervous look on his face.

"Uh . . . L-lois? I, uh, think I dropped my, uh, wallet . . . "

Despite herself, Lois was intrigued. So that was it. He had heard something, or seen something . . . or was it more of a _feeling?_ And _that_ was what that expression meant, and all of those lame excuses . . .

He really _was_ a rotten liar.

She could see right through him.

"Okay, Clark," she said. The elevator opened and she waited until the first rush of people had entered before backing in. "I hope you find it," she added after him.

But Clark had already turned around and was moving back towards the revolving doors, his hand tugging at his tie.

Then she couldn't see him any more, and the doors shut.

Somewhere close by, Lois was sure Superman had just shot into the sky. She wondered if he was careful not to make a sonic boom, or if he had been in too much of a hurry to worry about that.

Clark Kent.

Where'd he keep the Suit? Did he wear it under his work suit? What about his cape? His boots?

Strange.

She stepped out of the elevator and headed towards her desk. Not two more steps in the right direction, however, and Perry's voice boomed across the bullpen.

Sometimes Lois wondered if Perry had a hookup of cameras watching the whole room, or if he was simply omniscient. He certainly seemed to see far too many things from that little office of his.

"LANE! IN MY OFFICE!"

"Coming, chief."

She stopped by her desk, dumping off a folder and her purse.

"LANE!"

"Coming!" Lois reiterated, keeping one thin folder as she followed the voice of her editor obediently.

"All right, Lane," Perry said firmly, somehow managing to stare her down from his seated position at his desk. "Where in blazes have you been? Have you seen Kent? I called you both a hundred times yesterday, and half thought maybe some other wackos came and dragged you off, seeing as Superman's back, and everyone's scrambling over each other looking for him—" He cut off as Lois dropped a folder on his desk. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then picked it up, giving her a narrow-eyed look. "What's this?"

"See for yourself," Lois said, unable to keep the smug note out of her voice. It was a good article, even if Clark had been the one to give it to her. I mean, they'd worked together on articles before, even Superman ones. This was no different, and it was good. Perry opened it and his expression turned positively gleeful despite his attempt at a firm exterior.

"Lois, honey, where'd you get this?"

_From Clark Kent, rookie reporter extraordinaire. _

Way _extraordinaire._

"From Superman. Where else would I get it?" Lois replied. Perry frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Do you need the details, Perry? He just came to my apartment last night and gave me an interview, that's all."

Perry's eyes narrowed at that.

_That was all, really. _

"Hm," was all he said, and he sat back, taking the article in hand. "Well, then. I'll have this out to you to edit up in a couple. As for this Boss article of yours, I want you off it and on Superman, Lois."

_Oh, no he doesn't. _

"Take me off this story and I quit," Lois said. "Bureau 39 and the Boss _are_ about Superman, chief. He's working on it with . . . with me and Clark."

He might not have specifically said so, but it _was _true.

After all, Clark was her partner it had been hisnotes—_Superman's_ notes—on Luthor that had tipped Lois off.

No wonder he had known all those details about the accidents, and about Lex. It all made so much sense, now.

"Where is he?"

Lois blinked, brought out of her milling thoughts that hadn't stilled since she had set her feet back down on the ground early that morning. "Superman?"

Perry's brow lowered at that, and his voice was sarcastic. "Well, I'd love to know that too, if you know how to find him. But I was talking about Kent. Your partner. Heard of him?"

Oh. "He just dropped something on his way here, chief. He'll be right back."

Perry gave her another close look. "Well, then. What about this article of yours, then. What have you got?"

Lois grew serious. "We know who the Boss is."

Perry's eyebrows shot up. "Really," he said, leaning forward. "Well, it's about time. Where's the article?"

"Not written yet," Lois admitted. "We don't have enough evidence to back everything up, but it's out there, chief. We just have to find it."

"Well, editorials don't make front page papers, and I don't do libel—not in my paper," Perry said. "So who is this crime lord of ours?"

This Lois wanted to say with all smugness, but she couldn't.

" Clark figured it out," she said. "I think he should be the one to tell you."

Perry looked honestly, completely surprised at that. It made Lois feel slightly perturbed.

"O-kay," he said slowly, staring at her. "Well, you get on that, then. But I want to see something—hard proof, and an award-winning article. Are you following me?"

"Got it," Lois said.

"Then get to it," Perry dismissed her, turning back to her article that she had spat out at six-thirty that morning.

But before she even got to the door, Perry spoke again from where he was scanning over Lois's article.

"This is a nice article, Lois, but the readers want to know more. You don't say where he's been—and that's the number one question on everyone's mind."

Lois looked back at him. "Page 3," she said. "He said he was gone for personal reasons, and just asks for the public to respect his trustworthiness by what his actions already."

Perry wasn't looking at the article anymore, but his eyes seemed to bore right through hers before he nodded and looked back down to the article without a word.

Lois made her way out of the office, feeling distinctly like Perry was thinking about more than he should know or even guess.

Two minutes later she had logged onto her computer, opened up the internet, and was browsing through a very familiar web page, with Superman's perfect face— _Clark__'s_ perfect face—plastered boldly in the background for half the world to admire and swoon over.

A farm boy from Smallville.

It made Lois want to burst out into ridiculous, insane laughter. Somehow, she managed to hold it in.

There was no record of a recent rescue, but if Superman had had to go far or someplace more rural it may take days for it to recorded on if ever.

Jimmy brought her the newly-edited copy of the story on Superman and Lois got to work, and though the subject was certainly interesting to her, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to what Superman was doing _right now_.

------------------------

The smoke was oily and black, and the taste of it was thick as tar in Superman's lungs as he darted away from the fire he had blown out of the tipped and now black-charred hull of the semi. He hadn't gotten to it before it had blown, though, and now scattered twists of searing metal were scattered over the four-lane highway, mixing with the shattered glass and twisted hulls of the surrounding graveyard of cars.

Emergency workers swarmed over the area, trying to get the injured out and taken away. The danger of fire was over, now that Superman had come on the scene. The urgency was still there, but having Superman there made the scene a little less chaotic. A little less hopeless. A little less terrible, despite the destruction of the scene.

"Superman, over here!"

He flew over to the next cry in a moment, landing beside the rescue workers who were standing around a car that was bent around the front of the semi and rolled onto its back, lying halfway off the black-streaked asphalt.

A child was screaming inside. A man's arm was reaching through the broken window near the light, and a quick x-ray showed that he was crushed against the smashed-in dashboard, but amazingly still conscious as blood dripped from his crown.

Clark felt ill. Frozen. The child's terrified screams ripped like rusted metal through his brain.

But Superman was in charge, and for the hundredth—even thousandth—time since his return he pushed everything aide, knowing that hesitation could cost a life. He didn't pause, and didn't need to be told what to do. He flew over, ripped the back door off its hinges and threw it aside before darting in, pressing a hand against the crushed roof to give himself some room to hover down and lift the toddler from his car seat. He was shaken, still screaming.

The child cried and stared at him, terrified, but Clark didn't have time to try and calm him. He lifted the boy, murmuring softly to him as he eased him from the shattered confines of the car.

"Mummy. Mummeeee!" the boy cried. Clark's heart ached.

He handed him off carefully to an ambulance worker and darted back to the car, and yanked off the door to get to the man on the passenger side.

"It's all right. Everything's going to be all right," Superman said, placing his hand on the dashboard and pushing it away from the man's chest. The metal moved with a groan, and, ridiculously, the man struggled to stand, clearly in shock.

"R-ryan." Superman took the man in hand, lifting him carefully for fear that he might hurt himself. There was some strain in the man's back, and he didn't want him to make it worse.

"H-he's all right," Superman said. He eased his arms around the man carefully, doing his best to avoid the bruisings as he prepared to lift out of the wreckage. "He's right over here."

And in a second they were there as well, and Clark eased the man down onto a gurney, but the man suddenly tensed and some horrible lucidity appeared in his eyes.

"No," the man gasped. "My wife! My wife!"

The rescuers had gotten to the car, and after Superman's work had been able to extract the body of the dark-haired woman who had been crushed clean-on by the semi.

"Marie!" The man swore desperately, fighting against Clark's arms. "No! Marie!"

Clark should have tried to get him to calm down. He was hurt, in shock, but he himself had frozen at the sight of the delicate woman's broken body, now laid out on a gurney as the rescuers grimly prepared to cover her face.

Her dark hair sprawled around her.

_Lois. _

He didn't know if he let the injured man down, or if he was simply able to escape the superhero's frozen hold.

The woman's husband half-fell to her side, his own blood dripping onto her pale face as he leaned over, grasping at her pale, limp hand. "No. Nonononono!"

There is something terrible in that broken cry of a man who has lost his life, his love. Clark knew the fear of it, and this was that fear actualized. He was petrified by it, frozen. White walls were nothing before this raw, pure, helpless pain.

It cut him so deep. He couldn't breathe, but just stared at the couple. Stared at the spilt blood. Stared.

Felt a prick of white terror in his suddenly frozen heart.

He needed to take care of the man. He needed medical attention, and there were others that needed his help.

But the woman was dead. And there was no helping that.

_Lois_.

Blood, ash, fear, screams. He'd seen enough of it, just in these last few minutes. These past days, weeks, months . . .

_Superman, help! _

"Superman."

It was Henderson. Clark was distantly aware of the ash-streaked officer coming up beside him, but he didn't move.

Henderson swore, then actually stepped forward and took the hero by his shoulders. "_Listen,_ kidI know it's rough, but you've got to pull yourself together. People are watching."

Clark's haunted eyes went to the officer's slowly and he blinked, coming out of his panicked terror and stepping back and away from his touch. He shook his head, bringing a hand over his eyes.

"I—I couldn't . . . s-she's . . . "

"You can't save everyone," Henderson said, glancing around. Again risking breaking the hero's famed distance, he took Superman by the arm and pulled him aside, speaking low. "I don't know what happened to you, or where you've been, and if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But these people need you _now_. _We _need you."

And that was it. They needed him. Their need was greater than even his own fear, his own memories.

Clark took a deep breath, again pulling away as he nodded. He didn't say anything else, but just took to the air as another call for help caught his ear from across the highway, and he busied himself pulling out another bloodied and injured passenger from one of the cars, letting their blood get on his pale hands as he worked quickly.

He was Superman. He couldn't save everyone, but the least he could do was try.

-----------------------------------------------

Clark stepped out of the elevator. He was adjusting his tie slowly, and his step noticeably lacked the usual bounce as he eased his way down the stairs. In fact, his eyes were shadowed, and as he caught her gaze with his own his expression eased only the slightest bit.

Lois stopped herself from standing and going immediately to his side. Instead, she looked at the newly-refreshed webpage in front of her.

_Superman Seen at Car Accident Scene _

And beneath that,

_Nine saved. One in critical condition. One dead_.

_One dead._

But it couldn't be a rare thing, surely. Superman couldn't be expected to save _everyone_, and according to the short summary, the woman killed had been dead before he even arrived on the scene.

But knowing Kal-El—knowing _Clark__—_this must rip him apart

_How did he keep doing it? Why?_

The questions demanded answers more than ever in her mind. Superman existed to help others, but Clark was a man. He could live quite happily, and still a very good life just as he was.

But he wasn't content with that.

But knowing he was Clark Kent also helped answer part of that question. Of course. The optimistic Boy Scout would never pass an opportunity to help someone out, no matter what the consequences to himself.

What horrors had he faced? How did he stay so innocent, so positive, so annoyingly cheerful?

How often did he have to hide this grief and horror, after another terrible accident scene?

Lois swallowed. "Did you find it?" she asked.

"Huh?" Clark sounded preoccupied as he folded his jacket over the back of his chair. "Oh. Uh, yeah."

Did he really expect her to believe he'd spent the last half an hour searching for his wallet? But she had believed such things before.

She stared at him. She wanted to ask him what had happened, if he was all right, and give him a big hug and not even talk, if he didn't want to. Just for him to know that she was there for him.

But not yet. He needed to tell her. Somehow, she knew he _needed _to.

But she couldn't just let him suffer there, without doing anything!

She swiveled in her chair. "Guess what, Clark."

"Hm?"

Lois leaned forward, intent on catching his attention. "Superman has saved over five hundred lives since he came back on Saturday. Can you believe that?"

"T-that's nice, Lois."

He sounded tired, distant. And he had been so sincerely _happy_ this morning!

"Come here and see," she insisted, not willing to give up so easily. "Come on!"

He sighed and stood from his chair, which groaned slightly as he left it. He came and stood over her shoulder as he turned back to the webpage. She watched his expression as his shadowed eyes landed on the screen, catching his full attention with the full-bodied shot of himself that filled the background. His eyes widened slightly, and if there wasn't a faint blush rising in his cheeks, Lois was a blind woman.

"See?" she said, pointing needlessly to the bold box near the top of the screen.

_Rescues (For the last 24 hours): _

_342 reported and catalogued. _

_Lives saved: approximately 317. _

And beneath that was a new box:

_Lives Saved Since Superman's Return: _

_Approximately 546. _

_Total Life Count since Superman's Arrival in Metropolis: _

_Approximately 17,984 _

"Can you imagine?" Lois said, watching his eyes hover over the numbers. "Just _look_ at how much he's done, Clark. Seventeen thousand, nine-hundred and eighty-four lives. _Seventeen thousand, nine-hundred and eighty-four_ moms, dads, sons, daughters." She paused, then frowned slightly at a sudden thought. "I wonder if they only count each person once." If they didn't, Lois wondered how many of those 'saved lives' were hers.

She'd lost track a few times ago.

Clark didn't answer, but straightened, still staring at the screen.

"They actually keep track?"

Lois shrugged. "I guess. I mean, it's hard to tell if someone was _surely _going to die, sometimes, but they do as best as they can."

Clark's eyes wandered over the screen, dwelling on the listed articles, the links, and finally landing on the picture of Superman. Himself. An eyebrow lifted slightly, as if in a shadow of incredulity.

"Who in the world is in charge of this?"

Lois shrugged. "Just people. It shows how much of a difference he really makes, and how much people care, you know? I mean, look at this." She clicked on the forum link. "Over two million members strong, Clark, from all over the world, and they all are completely . . . "

"Obsessed," Clark finished for her, staring at a new photoshopped picture of Superman across the header of the forum page, now standing with his arms folded and looking off intently at some unseen target with a background of clearly artistically created galaxies. "What in the world is the 'Man-Meat Thread'?"

Lois jumped and quickly exited out of the window and turned her seat to face him. "Nothing," she said quickly, flushing bright.

Clark decided it was safer just not to know. He could imagine well enough, and he felt his cheeks burning.

Lois cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the burning in her own cheeks and hoping that Clark wouldn't let his curiosity lead him to that particular thread. He'd, quite simply, die of embarrassment, and probably would never step out of doors again for the rest of his life.

At least he wasn't looking so down anymore. Her plan had apparently worked.

"So," she said, her voice slightly higher than normal, but that was not to be helped. "What's the plan?"

Clark blinked at her. "S-sorry?"

Now really, Lois thought, feeling slightly upset. Surely it wasn't _that_ surprising. She wasn't _that_ controlling and unlistening!

_Surely_, she defended herself weakly.

"To bang the big boss," Lois said. "What do you think? What's the plan?"

Clark shifted, and took his time answering. He knew what he thought was best, but he was hesitant—especially because he, Clark Kent, really shouldn't know too much about Logram, except for the bare facts that Lois had put in the paper.

Lois was patient, and waited for him.

"This L-logram person," he said, hiding a shudder. He hadn't spoken that name out loud since . . . He mentally shook himself. Lois was right there. He didn't need to get caught up in memories. "It sounded like he was kind of . . . important. Have you . . . been able to talk to his wife?"

That name. He shouldn't be saying that name. He shouldn't have to even think that name. It haunted Lois, gave her chills, made her blood go cold. She didn't like him to say it.

Him. But he was right there. She could reach out and touch him, if she wanted. She could see him. He was right there. Real.

"I tried," she said seriously. There could be no joking, not when Logram was concerned. "But she wouldn't tell me anything."

"I—I . . . thought she might know something," Clark said.

"Like, his work address, maybe?" Lois said wryly.

"Or what he was t-trying to _do_, or if she knew about any visitors he might have had before."

"Any connections to Lex Luthor, you mean," Lois nodded.

"R-right," Clark said. "You said that Henderson said she didn't know anything, but she could be . . . "

". . . trying to protect him? Certainly. The woman nearly took my head off when I tried to talk to her."

Clark looked at that, his eyebrows raised. "Oh, no. What did you do this time?"

"Me?" Lois clarified needlessly. "Absolutely nothing."

A crooked, shy grin grew at the side of his mouth, almost as if it was asking her permission before appearing. "S-somehow I doubt that."

It was amazing, Lois marveled as they rode down the elevator. It was amazing how easy it really was to relax around him, and to get him to relax in turn.

She had realized how hard it was to keep Clark Kent's crush at bay, but until now she never realized how hard it had been for _her_ to keep from relaxing around him.

How often had she needed to start the chant of _Mad-Dog Lane_ to keep from being too easy on the guy?

On Superman.

It was time to get some things in the open air.

The walk to the car was nice, though still a bit too crowded on the sidewalk for good conversation. Clark had eased up slightly once again, though now and again he would look at her with that hesitation, that guilt.

Soon that would be gone too.

Clark was once again taken aback when Lois tossed him her car keys, though it had taken her quite a long internal debate to decide it was the best thing to do.

After all, he might be Superman, but he—Clark Kent—had almost _crashed_ the other day in the rental car (never mind about her part of the near-accident), and she had seen what he had done to that taxi earlier that morning—the bumper would never be the same.

She had to face it—she had seen Superman throw cars, lift cars, catch cars, rip car doors from their hinges, get hit by cars, and crush cars. She could remember few times she had actually seen him—that is, Clark (it was ridiculous to try and picture _Superman _driving)—drive, and though those times didn't necessarily have a bad memory to go with them, it was one of the greatest moves of trust she had ever made to hand over her car keys.

Maybe she was being overdramatic, but there you are.

She pulled out the directions, settled back in the passenger seat, and started directing Clark towards the northeast suburbia of Metropolis.

TBC . . .

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PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!!


	43. The Viper's Nest

Haha! Well, I don't know if any of you have been dwelling over the other places I post this, so I'll just briefly say sorry for the extremely long wait, and for the fact that I completely dropped off the planet without a word. I guess RL just went crazy on me, and once I'd stopped writing for a month or so time just slipped by and before I knew it . . . it's the end of July.

I hope you all haven't abandoned me, and I hope this chapter keeps up with everything I've had in the past.

Thanks for everyone who didn't give up on me!

Now onto the chapter . . .

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Chapter 43: Viper's Nest

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Clark was watching her again, despite the fact that he was easily maneuvering though thick morning traffic. "A-are you all right, Lois?" Did he ever stop watching—making sure she was all right—Lois wondered?

She turned her attention back to him. Or, rather, she turned her eyes back to him. Her thoughts hadn't drifted from him for a moment. How could they?

Kal-El's dark eyes watched her with some nervousness, perhaps hiding some dark fear lurking behind the shields of his glasses—bracing himself for a torrential outburst from the insensitive Lois Lane, even while that ridiculous farm boy, hopeful crush shone out of his eyes.

How could someone's eyes hold so much?

How could she have looked into them and seen so little?

No. Wait. He was looking at her. He could read her, too. She had to pull herself together.

Clark. What would she say to Clark?

She couldn't remember. Everything was too messed up.

"I'm okay. A bit tired," she admitted, looking away and out the window.

Clark was silent—perhaps guiltily silent, and Lois could just imagine him beating himself up for keeping her from getting a full night's rest once again.

_Serves him right_.

Serves him right for keeping her in the dark all this time. If he had just _told _her . . .

No. She'd been through this a million times already. Yes, things would have been easier if he had just told her, but he hadn't, for various reasons. Now they just had to deal with _now_.

As quickly as it came, the flash of righteous vindication vanished and guilt took its place for her brief pleasure in his pain.

Darn it.

Guilt. _She _shouldn't feel guilty, either.

She glanced at him to see him staring at the road, but his eyes were far, far away.

Was he just staring at the air, like most people did, or was there something deep, deep down under the hard black road that he found so deeply distracting? Molten lava bubbles or something?

Well, _she _wanted to distract _him_, now.

But what could she say?

_Even if you did keep me up, Kal-El . . . Really, it was the greatest night of my life . . . ever. _

_Thank you, Superman. _

_I love you . . . _

Clark?

Lois's brow furrowed. She sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

Still so confused.

Ignore it, then. Two can dance the dance.

"I-it's all right, Clark," she said at last. "I—I probably slept _better _than I have for weeks"—Darn. Guilt again in his eyes. She spoke faster—"P-probably than I have for a long time before that, too."

He looked at her—perhaps a hair too sharply—trying to read what she meant behind the words.

"T-that's good, Lois," he said noncommittally at last.

What a mess they made. Two stuttering fools, both hiding, both afraid. Both dancing.

The silence grew loud. Lois's conscience grew louder.

She wanted Clark to come clean. Today.

But she had pushed him away, time after time. What if he had already given up?

Unfair as it was—guilty as they both were—Lois realized she couldn't wait for him to make the first step. She _wouldn't._

She knew what she should say. She knew what she _needed _to say. _She_ needed to come clean.

No matter how sick it made her feel to think what he might think.

"A-are you sure you're okay?" Clark asked again hesitantly, as if half-expecting her to explode in his face.

Just like she had time and time again, before she had known.

"I . . . I don't know, Clark," Lois said, looking away and fingering the locking buttons on the side of the door.

_Come on!_ She had decided she needed to do this. There was nothing else she could do, to try to make what she had done right. She was going to do this.

She _had _to.

How could she expect him to trust her if she didn't trust him?

_Trust him_.

He needed her as much as she needed him. She had to hold onto that.

They _needed _each other.

At her words Clark had suddenly become very intent indeed, and perfectly serious. There was very little nervous farm boy left, but even it was put aside as he paid full attention to her.

Somehow he still stayed on the road. Perhaps she had misjudged his driving abilities.

"What is it?"

Lois took a deep breath and spoke quickly in a rush of air, as if afraid that if she said it too slowly she wouldn't be brave enough to say it.

"Clark, I—I have to tell you—" She _had_ to tell him. "I-I broke into your apartment yesterday."

Clark was so surprised at the confession, that he blinked and flat-out stared at her for a second. It was a good thing that they had turned onto a less busy street, and so the second didn't result in a wreck. He blinked, and it seemed to register that the car was drifting into the other lane. He quickly adjusted, jerking the wheel unsteadily so they were back on the right side of the road.

"I—I'm sorry," Lois said quickly, not looking at him and staring at her white hands clasped on her lap. "I—I know I shouldn't have, but . . . but I was curious about w-where you'd gone off to, and why S-s-superman was your friend, and . . . "

His expression had hardly changed. Lois's bumbling apology trailed off as she braced herself enough to look at him—and recognized something as Clark sat back as he stopped at the next stoplight, his dark eyes studying her carefully.

He wasn't surprised. There was no hurt or shock in his eyes. He was just watching her. Thinking.

He had already known. Perhaps he had even flown overhead and seen her in the act of such breaching of privacy.

So that was why he had looked at her so closely the night before, hovering outside her window before coming in from the rain. He had _known _that she had invaded his private space, and hadn't known what to do about it.

"Y-you're not angry," Lois observed hesitantly, both relieved and left feeling almost light-headed from relief at the lack of hurt in his eyes.

She had been afraid . . . so afraid . . .

Clark blushed and ducked his head. "Uh. . . " Now what was he supposed to say? That he had been flying overhead and had seen her snooping around? He had been surprised and a bit hurt at first, but after that just openly curious about what in the world she was looking for. "I—I guess n-not. I—I'm just wondering . . . Why?"

A loud, long honk behind her started Lois from her stunned relief and deflated feeling of lost fear, and seemed to surprise Clark as well so that he pressed on the gas pedal a little too hard, shooting them off the line and forward with an uncomfortable jerk.

He flushed, embarrassed, and got his driving back under control with a soft apology. Lois was too distracted to even think that perhaps she should have driven after all.

How was she supposed to tell him that she was looking for something that had been sitting in the front of her mind for weeks on end? That she was looking for something that was watching her so closely at that very moment. "I . . . I don't know," she admitted. She really didn't know. No matter what sort of suspicions she had had, nothing could really explain why she had been driven there.

He gave her a crooked half-grin, but Lois saw a trace of hesitation and a shadow beneath that, and as he spoke it faltered and failed. "I g-guess you didn't find anything of worth about a farm boy from S-smallville, USA."

How much she had dismissed him to his face, again and again. And here he was, bracing for it once again and trying to make light of it.

Honesty. She could be honest with him. And she wanted to be.

It was so easy to be honest with him, with his dark eyes watching her. Ready to move the world for her.

"It's a long story," she sighed. She tapped her finger against plastic lock buttons. "See, K-" She caught herself and continued more carefully. "Cclllark, the first day I went back to the office after getting away from _them_ I, well, I sort of . . . attacked Jimmy. Almost knocked him clean out." She chuckled ruefully. "The kid's still nervous to come up behind me, you know?"

Clark smiled at her hesitantly. "Y-you know, I almost did the same thing, in Smallville, when he came down for . . . "

_For his father's funeral. _

Lois turned to him. "Jimmy was in Smallville?"

Clark nodded and shrugged. "He's a good kid." He looked out the window, his hair falling over his eyes so he had to brush it back a bit, and he smiled slightly to himself. "Scared to death of the chickens, though."

"I can imagine," she said dryly. "Too bad you didn't get pictures."

Clark didn't answer, but kept looking out the window.

"Ah," Lois caught him. He might not lie, but he was a master at hiding truths. "Of course. Jimmy was with you, so he'll have plenty of pictures to go around." No reaction. "I'll be seeing those, Clark, with all the plaid and farm boy glory."

Still no answer.

Where was the easy bantering? Where were the returning jokes, the returning teasing? Instead, he was looking out the window, biting his lip and looking far away in thought, and not happy thought at that.

In fact, his hands were shaking slightly on the wheel, though he moved his right hand and clasped his forearm as if he felt her gaze on him, his left over the right, almost protectively despite its deceptive casualness.

Over his right arm, that had been injured not so many weeks before.

Did it still hurt him?

Lois had no doubt that it did, no matter how healed the scars were.

"L-Lois, I—I . . . ."

_Lois, I'm Superman_.

Lois's heart leaped into her throat and she felt she couldn't breathe.

_It was coming_.

Both hands returned to the wheel, gripping it so tight Lois was surprised she didn't see it bending right at that moment. It was like a knife was tearing in Lois's own heart.

_P-please d-don't leave me. _

She wanted to take him in her arms. She wanted to hold his hand. She wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she _knew, _and she didn't care.

Not now. Maybe later. But right now, she didn't care about that at all.

But he had to do this. He had to do this, for himself.

But Clark looked away, out the front window, and swallowed. "We-we're here," he whispered.

Darn it! The man was right. There was no way that Lois could pretend to be lost and drive around the block another time—not with Clark driving (perhaps she should have driven, after all). They pulled in front of the carefully-manicured lawn and turned off the car.

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The air was quiet, but not oppressively so. An American robin sang from somewhere down the street and the soft rumble of a passing car hummed by. The air was warming, but was still cool and fresh from the rain, and smelled of wet asphalt, grass, and damp dirt. Clark got out of the car and paused, taking a breath and letting his eyes drift down the white side fence and the line of wetly glimmering trees to the home nestled comfortably in the center of the deep green lawn.

A purple tricycle with a hand bell and little tassels hanging from the handles lay toppled on the front lawn near the front steps, and a baseball bat shone with metallic dew amidst the grass.

It was a positively lovely suburban home—very similar to one that Clark had imagined might some day be a place where he would be comfortable to settle down. But there were some signs of neglect against the picture-perfect lawns and houses on either side. The grass was just-too-long to be considered neat, the paint on the white fence was flaking and showing water-logged wood underneath, and the front porch was cluttered with the scatterings of half-rotted, half-dust, half-muddied leaves and withered blossoms from the fall and more recent spring, streaks of dust and remnants of spider hotels, and a once-red wagon with a thin lining of still, rusty water on its bottom,

And there, on the mailbox, stood the bold yet gracefully written name that had haunted his dreams for far too long.

_Logram. _

Lois and Clark looked at each other—almost automatically, before both reaching for the car doors and stepping out. Clark waited on the sidewalk, practically hovering as he waited for her to come around the car to stand beside him.

Though not quite, though Lois had to admit that she did sneak a peek towards his shoes, which were firmly planted on the ground.

How in the world did he fly anyway? Was it like some Peter Pan thing? Did he have some sort of happy thought that carried him into the skies?

No. That was ridiculous. But something inside him made it work. Made him more free than the rest of the world could ever be . . .

Something inside of him that Logram had been so eager to find.

"It's so . . . " Clark began, but trailed off as the robin made itself visible from the depths of one of the trees and flitted over his head with three calls. He watched it as it crossed the street, perched upon the peak of a neighbor's home, and continued its song.

"Normal?" Lois finished for him, likewise looking bleakly at the home.

"Y-yeah. It's . . . weird, you know?"

He didn't know what he had expected, but he had not expected this. To think of Logram here, tending to the yard, the fence, walking up this sidewalk day after day after work . . .

He couldn't do it.

Lois touched his arm gently, and Clark realized that he had gone completely stiff and still. He relaxed slightly at her touch and turned his head to the side as he heard it.

_"Julia, get down here right now or I'm going to tell Mom!" _

Clark lowered his glasses slightly and a peered _through_ the house to the other side, where a young boy and girl were standing at the base of a fair-sized tree.

_"No! I need to get Zupie!" _

The answering hero was a small Hispanic girl, who had somehow made it onto one of the lower branches of the tree and was now making her way up towards a very unhappy looking cat perched a fair few feet above her.

Clark blinked. A _blue _cat?

_"Julia!"_ it was the boy that shouted this time, and he looked annoyed despite his worry. _"It's just a stupid cat. He'll come down when he gets hungry." _

_"No! Go away, Mike!"_ the little rescuer said, sounding close to tears as she reached for another branch just out of her reach. _"Zupie, come here, kitty."_ The cat gripped the bark beneath its claws and made absolutely no move towards her.

"What is it?" Lois asked.

Clark jumped, both at the proximity of her voice and the fact that he'd been caught staring seemingly blankly at the unmoving house before them. He fumbled, quickly pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I—Uh . . . what if they're in the backyard, Lois? How about we check?" And he started forward to do just that.

"Okay," Lois said, somewhat surprised at his haste but not complaining as she stepped quickly to keep up with his long strides.

They came around the side of the house and Lois blinked at the sight of the children, the girl in the tree who was now standing precariously on the next-higher branch as she gripped another to her chest. Her hands were shaking, and she was staring down at her companions with wide, frozen eyes.

"Julia, come on down, now."

"I _can't_! I have to get Z-zupie!" the girl cried, sounding horribly close to tears.

"Hey, who are you?" the boy—Mike—demanded, glaring down at both of them.

Clark slipped out of his coat so quickly that Lois decided he must practice in his spare time, and when he looked around for a place to set it she took it from him. He gave a brief smile and started forward, easily catching hold of the lowest branch, which only came to about his shoulders.

"It's all right, I'll get you," Clark said, easy lifting himself up to the branches. It took him only a couple seconds to climb up to the girl and reach her at her precarious perch. "Whew," he said, feigning tiredness. "You're a good little tree-climber, to get up here all alone," he said, sitting beside her on the thin branch that Lois was sure should have long since broken beneath his weight, if . . . "Want to come on down with me now?" he gave an easy, comforting smile.

Superman's smile. Lois had seen it a thousand times—seen it coax terrified victims from cliffs, from burning buildings, from shattered vehicles . . . and had never recognized it on her partner's face.

He was in his element. There was no sign of the bumbling, awkward reporter right now.

The girl stared at him out of big black eyes, her two short black braids quivering slightly. Lois was sure that, charm or not, Big Blue was just about to get rejected.

Then, without warning, the little girl let go of the branch and eased herself into Clark's waiting arms, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Lois didn't scowl. Really—she didn't! She'd been wrong before, after all.

"Okay," Clark said, bringing one arm around the girl. "Hold on, okay?"

He took his time climbing down, and in a minute his feet were set carefully on the grass and he was setting a very reluctant girl down on the ground.

"Z-zupie," the girl said, looking back up the tree that now looked impossibly tall to her small height.

"Just a second," Clark said, and though he didn't actually climb the tree in a second like Lois knew he could, he carefully made his way up the tree, now and then standing on branches that she knew couldn't possibly bear his whole weight—215 pounds as it were. The cat growled and hissed at him, but with a little coaxing he took it in an experienced hand and carefully made his way back down again.

"T-thank you!" little Julia said, reaching forward with open arms for her badly colored bright-blue cat, for stripes and patches of white still showed through the job. Considering that the feline was bristling, spitting, and about a third of the girl's size, Clark moved forward slowly, letting the cat calm down at the scent of his owner before letting the cat down. It purred and rubbed its very blue fur against Julia's leg.

"Julia! Mike! Jenni! What is going on out here?"

A woman with silver-lined dark hair charged from the back door—a young, freckled boy of five trailing at her heels as she swept forward towards the children.

"Julia climbed the tree, Mom!" Mike piped up.

"Mike colored Zupie again, Mommy!" Julia sniffled, clinging to Zupie, who indeed looked like he had had a very bad coloring job of bright blue.

"I _told _her not to do it, Mom—" Jenni said with all 11-year old righteousness.

"Oh, Julia!" the woman knelt down next to the young child and took her by the shoulders. "You need to be _careful!_"

"I'm all better, Mommy," Julia insisted, but was not answered.

Mrs. Logram stood slowly, her conditioned mother's eye doing a quick scan to make sure none of the children was hurt before her gaze swept to the two strangers, and stalled on Lois and immediately chilled.

"Miss Lane. I told you I wasn't giving interviews."

"Excuse me, you must be Mrs. L-logram," Clark said, stepping forward with a smile that was only slightly tremulous. "I am sorry. We wouldn't have intruded like this, but we heard the children and came through the gate to help."

"He climbed the tree to save Zupie, mommy!" Julia insisted, bouncing, and the cat that was now half-way in her arms hung with conditioned limpness. "And he saved me too, 'cause I was going to _fall._"

"What have I told you about climbing that tree?"

"S-sorry, mama, but _Mike—_"

"_Ju-lia!" _Mike interrupted with a warning glare.

"All right, I want you and your sister to go to your rooms. _Now._"

"Momm-ee!" the pair whined in almost perfect unison.

"But mommy, I want to show the nice man my bunny!"

"To your rooms, you two, _now_," Mrs. Logram ordered, her tone brooking no nonsense.

Mike hunched towards the house, stomping heavily on the damp ground. Julia, however, hesitated, looking at Clark. Without warning she moved forward forward, dropping poor Zupie and wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him with all the strength she could muster. "Thank you, mister . . . " Her young face reflected confusion. "Wha's your name?"

"I-I'm Clark," Clark said. "You'd better head up to your room, like your mom says."

"But I _like_ you."

Lois put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin.

Clark gave Mrs. Logram an apologetic look, then bent down and ruffled Julia's dark hair. "I like you too."

"Ju-lia," her mother warned. The girl jumped back.

"Thank you, Mister Clark!" she said, and scampered into the house.

Clark watched her disappear. "S-sorry," he said, looking back towards Mrs. Logram as if afraid of her wrath.

He needn't have been afraid. Mrs. Logram looked at him, who was still jacketless, and the vest of his suit was a bit crooked, and though he couldn't see it a leaf had fallen on his hair during one of his adventures up the tree. He looked so plain guilty and yet _innocent-farm boy_ that despite his height and age, he really did look just like a kid.

"It's all right," the woman said. "Jenni, will you take Kevin inside and turn on a movie for him? And keep an eye on him, this time?"

"Yes, Mom," the eldest said, obediently scooping up the bundle of energy who was busy running around the yard making _zooming_ sounds. All three watched the last of the children close the back door behind them, and at last the yard was silent again.

Mrs. Logram visibly deflated as she looked back to them. "Look, mister . . . "

"Oh. C-Clark. Clark Kent," he introduced quickly, reaching forward to shake her hand. "And this is L-Lois Lane."

"We've met," Mrs. Logram said, her eyes visibly chilling as she turned her eyes to Lois. Clark looked at Lois curiously, who looked close to wringing his jacket which she still held.

"Again, we _are _sorry for intruding . . . ." Clark apologized again, but Mrs. Logram interrupted him.

"No. _Thank_ you. The four of them have always been a handful, but with the long weekend they're just bursting to get out—especially Julia, now that . . . well. And I would take them out, but . . . " She trailed off.

She would, but it was so much harder as a single parent.

A single parent. Had she actually _loved _Logram?

Clark didn't know. But she _felt _like a nice person, at least in first impressions, which didn't help him know how to feel about this whole situation. She was a bit on the plump side, seeming almost grandmotherly despite the younger age of her children, with open eyes and her graying hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

"I-I think I understand," Clark said. "I grew up in K-Kansas on a farm, and my parents' hair was white by the time I was five from all the times I got into trouble. It must be a real adventure to have four of them around." He glanced towards the house. "A-are they all yours?"

Lois didn't know how he did it. For all of her years and experience and smack-down, hard-core reporting talents, she could not figure how he did it. But fifteen minutes later she was sitting in Mrs. Logram's kitchen, stirring her too-hot cocoa as she watched Clark and the wife of the man who had almost killed him talk like old friends.

Was it the country boy charm? The open, honest smile? Or just the fact that while he sat at the couch and talked with the woman there was such earnestness in his whole attitude as he listened. Even if what they were speaking about was completely irrelevant (and a waste of time, in Lois's mind) to speak about, Clark _cared_.

But wasn't that just so . . ._ Clark?_

Through the course of the conversation it had been discovered that Clark was adopted, like the three youngest of the four Logram children. Now he sat with the smallest boy, Kevin, on his lap, whom he had lured there with a peace offering of lifesavers from an inner jacket in his pocket.

Why did Clark carry lifesavers in his pocket? Why did Superman carry lifesavers in his pocket?

Lois shook her head. She was going stir-crazy.

There was a lapse in the conversation as Clark was distracted with a disjointed and babbled story from the young child, from which Lois recognized little but a slurred "Zupie," while Clark was nodding and watching the child as if he was fluent in babble along with all his other languages. Lois's eyes drifted around the too-normal room, her imagination once again trying to picture Logram walking across the clean carpet, sitting at the couch, at the dinner table. . .

She looked back to Mrs. Logram, who had likewise taken the distraction of Clark's attention and was now watching Lois with an unfriendly look on her face. When their gazes met Mrs. Logram looked away and back to Clark.

"Mr. Kent, you seem like a good person."

Clark looked up from the in-depth conversation he was having and handed the boy on his lap another lifesaver, quieting the child for a minute. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Logram."

"I told Mrs. Lane that I didn't want her coming back. It's not easy losing a husband, and under these conditions . . . " Her voice cracked and she stopped, fighting for composure.

"Mrs. L-logram, I assure you we are not looking for anything to cause you or your family any more pain," Clark said, his words spoken in such a careful way that no one could ever doubt his word.

"Even so," Mrs. Logram said, looking away and blinking rapidly. She brought a hand to her face. "I . . . I would appreciate it if you would not try and contact me again. I don't know anything, and I think you may be able to imagine how it is, to have a loved ones memory so . . . destroyed, after he's passed on." Clark opened his mouth to speak again, but Mrs. Logram held up a hand. "Please," she whispered. "Please, just . . . I would like you to leave now. And please, Mr. Kent . . . I just want to forget all of this."

Clark ducked his head, his eyes thick with guilt, and Lois felt a spike of anger. This woman could be playing his sympathetic and trusting nature, and he should _not _be feeling guilt for anything involving _Logram_! Whether Mrs. Logram was involved with Bureau 39 or not, there must be _something_ here to give them a lead.

Clark had helped Kevin from his lap and stood. Lois stood with him and faced the woman across from her boldly.

"Mrs. Logram," Lois said, folding her arms and meeting the woman's eyes. "I understand if it may not be the most pleasant thing, finding out your husband is a criminal, but that's the truth. Hiding from it won't change what he did, and by not helping us you may aiding the very crimes that he supported!"

Mrs. Logram had gone slightly pale, and her lips were tight as she stood as well. " Mrs. Lane," she said tightly. "Haven't you heard a word I've said? Didn't you hear what I told you last time we spoke? _I don't know anything." _

Lois's expression was less than believing.

Mrs. Logram set down her cocoa on the table so hard that it splashed some of the hot liquid out of the glass. "Two weeks ago I got a phone call that told me my husband was dead—poisoned in jail after being arrested for illegal medical research." The woman's voice shook with emotion, and her eyes shone with upset tears as she wrapped her arms around her. "That was it. Everything else—_everything else!—_I read from the paper, or saw on the news, or overheard at the grocery store. I don't know _anything._ Not the details of what he was doing, not who he was working for, not _why. _Not . . . not _anything!_"

The woman's tirade was broken by a sob and she lifted a shaking hand to her face. She braced herself against the table with her other hand, as if the earth was unstable beneath her and was likely to give out beneath her uncertain feet.

Lois stood there, stunned. Kevin started crying, just because his mother was.

Clark moved. He took Mrs. Logram's arm, muttering soft reassurances as he pulled out a chair for her and helped her sit. She did so, and accepted Clark's handkerchief with a nod of thanks even as she struggled to stop the shuddering tears that shook her motherly frame.

"I—I'm sorry," Mrs. Logram said at last, her breath hitching from the tears.

"No, _we're _sorry," Clark said, sitting across from her and watching her with guilt-stricken eyes. "We had no idea, Mrs. Logram . . . ."

Mrs. Logram sniffed, wiping tears carefully away with a shaking hand. "I . . . it's just t-terrible, not knowing. Just hearing . . . whispers."

"We are on the case," Lois said. She was awkward in sight of the woman's tears, but she wasn't about to sit down like Clark, who was all but patting the woman's hand for comfort. "Mrs. Logram, like I said before, we are _not _dirt-diggers. We are seeking for"—her gaze flickered towards Clark—"truth. Justice. We have suspicions about who is responsible for this. _All _of it—from your husband's crimes to his murder, and who is responsible for all of this. We've hit a dead end, but if we can find anything—_anything_ from your husband's work, business . . . we could bring it all to light."

Mrs. Logram's lips tightened as she listened, but it was not in anger this time. It was determination. She wiped at the last of her tears and nodded, swallowing thickly.

"Mike was a good man. We . . . we always wanted children of our own. Jenni . . . was a miracle. After the doctors said we couldn't have any others, we turned to adoption. Michael, Julia, and Kevin were our little blessings." She took a deep, shuddering breath, and dabbed at her eyes again. "He was a _good man_. I . . . I met him in college. We were in the same medical program, and kept in touch while I went into nursing and he into hematology." Her voice shook. "He . . . he was . . . quiet—never really liked people, but he was handsome and brilliant—a doctor more of behind the scenes than the foreground. I fell in love with him." She turned slightly, looking out the window into the backyard. "He was here often enough. Not always really . . . cheerful, but he was someone the kids could depend on, even if they didn't play with their Daddy all the time. You . . . you could tell he loved them."

She paused, holding Kevin close to her heart as she rocked slightly.

"Six months ago Julia was diagnosed with Leukemia.

We did everything we could. In his work, Mike was among the best, and he had connections. We took her to experts—the best in the field, and in the world of medicine but they all said the same thing: her case was terminal, and there was n-nothing they could do for her."

"We watched our little daughter waste away. She . . . she was so small . . . so weak. Just a little child, who should have . . . been worrying about nothing but . . . flowers. Rain. Sunshine. But . . . there was nothing we could do but watch her . . . die." The last word was in a bare whisper.

She stopped, trying to compose herself slightly again. She gave a valiant attempt at a smile. "That's actually when we got Supes."

Lois and Clark both went dead-still. Lois felt as if her heart frozen in mid-beat.

"What?" she demanded.

"I suppose you know him better as Zupie," Mrs. Logram said, her smile coming easier. "Kevin named the poor cat, but couldn't say the name right. It just kind of . . . stuck." She sighed softly. "Of course, Mike never . . . well, he didn't really like . . . ." She trailed off, clearing her throat.

Clark swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat. He looked down at his hands.

"Mike . . . he dedicated his life to finding a cure," Mrs. Logram continued. "Spent less time at home. N-near the end, he said he was working on a project that _would _heal her. He . . . he seemed so determined I . . . I just prayed he would be right. That it would _work_."

"And it did," Clark whispered, remembering the active, lively and healthy child he had rescued from the tree only a few minutes before. "It _did_ work."

Mrs. Logram nodded tearfully. "He . . . he disappeared, three weeks ago. He just didn't come home from work. It wasn't too unusual. I just thought he couldn't bear to watch . . . little Julia. And he was working himself to death trying to save her. And she was so close, then. We were keeping her at home. We both knew the equipment, and . . . we wanted her to . . . be at home, when the time came." She shifted Kevin on her lap and rubbed his back absently. "He came back on Wednesday—I remember it clearly, because it was the . . . the last time I saw him. He looked so tired . . . so exhausted. Almost . . . cold," she whispered. "But . . . he slipped something into Julia's IV before he left again—he said he couldn't stay. He just . . . left a vial, and told me to give it to her in twelve hours. Whatever it was . . . it hurt my little baby. She was sick with fever, pain . . . but . . . the next morning she woke up and . . . it was over. The doctors could find no sign of cancer, and you can see her now, just two weeks later. It . . . it was a miracle."

She looked at them intently through her red-rimmed eyes. "How can we condemn this? Whatever he was doing—he saved a little girl's life. Even if it was . . . funded, or supported by some crazy government group . . . Isn't a little . . . _illegal medical research_ worth that? Isn't it worth the life of my little girl?"

Clark looked away, and Lois could see his hands pale and clench. He didn't—perhaps he couldn't—answer.

TBC . . .

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!!!


	44. Progress

Hello, all! I'm so very glad to see that you all didn't give up on me. Thanks for the warm welcome back and the reviews!

s.d. helps her back onto her chair Are you okay? Sorry—it's kind of an occupational hazard to be a reader around here. Lol. Well, thanks for your review. Sorry if you're sore from your fall.

PhantomOCD--blushes Well, thank you! I'm glad to see I haven't lost my touch. I would certainly be lying if I didn't say I was worried about starting up again, after all this time. As for being published . . . well, since it's a fanfiction piece I don't really know how that would work. Still, thanks for the compliment! It certainly makes my day!

Delia Ra-Nar—Hands over a tissue I'm glad the fishhook of emotion worked. I have to say that I'm a bit of a sucker for emotional drama over action (just because I have some major issues writing the latter). As for you re-reading the whole thing . . . WOW! I had to do the same just before reading this chapter myself, but talk about dedication on the reader's part. I hope this update is soon enough for you. Thank you for your review!

KC-Piper-fan—Nope, I didn't forget about it! It's good to see you're still around, though. Thank you so much for your review.

Oneredneckgoddess—Thanks for the warm welcome! It's wonderful to be back. rocks on heals As for the rest of the reveal . . . . It's coming. Soon. And I promise not to drop of the face of the earth before it happens again, deal? ;)

Smithcrafter—It's a tough question for Clark especially, who has always been so completely selflessly helpful to everyone, but it also started a pretty nice little conversation of ethics and stuff over at the lcmbs of how we answer it. Thank you so much for your review!

Okay, that was a long bit. Um . . . well, then. That's it. Thanks again everyone for reading (and especially reviewing!) and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

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Chapter 44: Progress

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After telling her story Mrs. Logram seemed to simply run out of energy. She sat there, deflated and beaten. Thanking her for everything, Lois and Clark took their leave. The newly widowed woman gave them a farewell along with Logram's old work address and a request that she be kept up-to-date with any breakthroughs.

"I might not know anything," the woman had said as she stood on her doorstep, hugging herself against some non-existent morning , "but . . . his work . . . they might have . . . heard, seen . . . or something. That's all I can give you."

Clark turned down Lois's offer to drive with a soft shake of his head and took to the passenger seat, lost in thought.

If they had only asked him. If they had _asked _him—surely he would have been willing to let them _use _him to save the life of a little girl.

He was willing to face pain, torture, even death to protect even one, frightened little girl.

Was he willing to face pain, torture, even death to protect even one, frightened little girl?

That answer was obvious: an unconditional "yes."

That answer made him feel sick as he heard that "unconditional" and realized what it meant.

He never had a hesitation about throwing his life on the line to save an innocent life out on the streets. Why would this be all that different?

If there was something in him that could heal such terrible diseases just like this . . . If he was truly so willing to help, he should find another doctor, let them use whatever that was to find cures for so many of mankind's ailments . . . .

The very thought made him very glad that he wasn't driving, because all he could do was close his eyes and clench his hands. He couldn't grip anything—his fingers were tight enough to bend steel as they formed fists on his lap.

" Clark?"

Lois's voice was soft, even timid, though the thought of Lois speaking _timidly_ was ridiculous, especially to this man, who had seen how strong she was against the worst of trials.

"You okay?"

Why wouldn't he be okay? He was Clark Kent, who had never been trapped in the white room, who's blood didn't have the ability to heal a previously un-curable disease. He had no reason _not_ to be okay.

No wonder she thought so little of Clark, looking at his fear and bumbling through eyes like that.

He unclenched his hands, opened his eyes. Forced himself to relax, to untie the knot in his stomach.

The last didn't work very well.

Swallow. Lean back a bit. That's right—casual. No need for him to be reacting like this. Superman wasn't here right now—not in Lois's mind, at least—and Clark had no reason to be so tense.

"Sure, Lois."

Her glance was unreadable as she glanced from the road to him.

What was she thinking? About Superman, and about how he would take this news? Was she even going to tell him?

She wouldn't get the chance. Clark was going to tell her first.

There was a moment of silence.

Now?

"What's the address for that, Clark?"

No. Not yet. Perhaps at lunch. Maybe get her to take a walk with him to some secluded spot so she could scream and rage without drawing too much attention . . . .

Clark looked down at the paper Mrs. Logram had written the address on. He blinked.

"I-it's at Metro Physics, Lois."

Lois up sharply.

"Lex," she realized. " Clark, you don't think—"

"T-That Logram might have been part of the reason for Lex acquiring Metro Physics?" Clark finished for her, resting his right arm on the open window. He shifted so his palm was upwards, feeling the brush of the sun against his skin and welcoming it. "Maybe. No doubt the $32 million surplus of the company was a bonus as well."

Lois's grip shifted on the wheel and she leaned forward, her eyes narrowed and not just because of the glare on the road. "My reporter's instinct is itching. This is going to be good, Clark. I can feel it."

The drive wasn't long. Logram had situated his home so the ride to work was less than fifteen minutes, which was impressive anywhere, let alone in Metropolis. Lois parked the car and they headed together towards the entrance.

"We need to be quick," Lois said. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lex has instructions to call him if we show up." Or maybe he'd been watching them all along. In that case they had to be extra careful. Especially Clark.

Half of her loathed the idea of dragging him into such a place, but she had no good reason to keep Clark Kent out, and if Superman knew her reasonings then there would be no way to keep him from her side—that she knew. Taking a deep breath, she started inside with a bold step, making sure Clark came right at her side.

The lobby was still with too-cold recycled and air conditioned air, and the silence was a sharp contrast to the welcome bustle of Metropolis. Clark didn't let himself relax by extending his hearing far outside the building—they were in the snake's lair, and he needed to be alert and ready . . . no matter how edgy it made him. The stink of disinfectants didn't help.

He folded his arms, trying to make it look casual rather than to hide the slight shaking in his hands.

He frowned, clenching and unclenching his hands. Forcing them to relax. Forcing them to stop shaking.

He was tense, but he could be strong. He'd turn his fear into strength.

He would figure things out, no matter what it took.

Clark noticed Lois watching him surreptitiously. Their eyes caught for a second and she looked away quickly.

Her heart rate had just shot up. The sound of it was clear in the sharp silence of the too-white room.

What was that about?

Was she really that scared? She certainly wasn't showing it. Rather, she looked a little flushed rather than pale, even while she worried her bottom lip.

"Can I help you?"

The young white-garbed nurse was watching them disinterestedly.

"Could you tell us where room A1128 is?"

The nurse tapped away at the keyboard in front of her. She frowned at what she saw on the screen, typed furiously for another second, then looked up at them.

"What is your clearance, Mr. and Mrs. . . . ?"

" Kent," Clark finished. Then he stuttered. "C-clark Kent, I mean. And this is L-lois. Lane." He sent a flustered look at Lois, and was surprised to find her looking more amused than not. She didn't catch his eye.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kent, but—"

" Miss Lane? Lois Lane? My, now, isn't it great to see you!" A thin man with wild grey hair and a thick grey beard had come around the corner, and had called out from behind his clipboard, which he had paused in the middle of turning a page. Now that he had seen them, he lowered the notes and stepped forward at a brisk pace.

"Never mind, Emily. These two are with me."

"But Professor . . . . "

"No, not, 'But Professor.' I've been waiting all afternoon for these two to show up." He took Lois by the arm and steered her down the hall, leaving Clark to follow. "Why didn't you show up at the time of your appointment?"

Lois stared at him, momentarily without words. "Dr. Hamilton—"

"Shh!" the bearded man shushed her as they turned the corner, not slowing his step. There was a gleam in his eye, and a slight shimmer of sweat on his wrinkled brow. "Not here."

Lois looked back to make sure Clark hadn't been left behind. He quickly pulled his hand away from his glasses and shoved them in his pocket and shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant way.

She managed to keep the confused frown from her face as she looked forward again. She had always thought he had a problem with his glasses or something, but this was _Superman _she was thinking about, here. She resisted to turn back and stare at him to try and figure out this mystery.

Hamilton steered them into his office and glanced back into the hall before closing the door firmly and activating the lock. "What are you doing here, Miss Lane?"

"Looking up on Dr. Logram."

Sharp eyes stared out of thick glasses at her. Hamilton put his clipboard on the table next to a tray of vials. After a moment his gaze went to Clark and he frowned.

"Who's this?"

Clark blinked, pulling his hands from his pockets as if he were a kid caught stealing a stick of gum from a friend's backpack.

"C-Clark Kent, Professor."

"My partner," Lois explained. Hamilton's frown didn't disappear, but only increased.

"Have we met before?"

Lois paused, blinked. She remembered Clark saying he knew the doctor, and that he worked at Metro Physics. But Hamilton didn't recognize him, or at least his name.

Oh, goodness. _Clark_ had never been to see the professor, but Lois was willing to bet that his primary-garbed counterpart had.

Primary-garbed counterpart? It was funny to think of Kal-El like that, though she couldn't figure why.

She cleared her throat. "He just has one of those faces," she said quickly. Clark shot her a puzzled look. "Professor," Lois said. "We're here to see Dr. Logram's office and labs."

Hamilton puffed at his moustache. "Won't do you any good," he said. "Luthor had the place stripped down as soon as he got his hands on the place. Everything's gone."

Lois deflated. "Everything?"

"Claims he didn't want the bad publicity of an illegal researcher tainting the place. Cadswollop, if you ask me." He turned around, shifting through papers, notes, and moving around a number of odd instruments. "I'm leaving, myself. Have a place for me over at STAR Labs. I'm almost done cleaning up the place." Lois glanced up to see Clark lifting a doubtful eyebrow at the cluttered room. "I'm no politician, but I'm not working under Luthor. Never liked the man, and neither does Superman. That puts a black mark on his name, if you ask me—"

The part about Superman just seemed to have slipped out of the absent-minded professor, but it made Lois edgy. "Can we at least look around his lab? Maybe there was something Luthor missed."

Hamilton shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "It's not like Luthor can fire me or anything," he muttered. He turned, then paused with his hand on the doorknob to look back at them. "All right. Just follow me and try to act inconspicuous."

Clark adjusted his glasses. Lois nodded.

Hamilton led them out of his office and down the hall. A left, past four doors, a right, past two doors and a fire extinguisher. Lois stopped behind Hamilton as the professor stopped in front of a bare door whose name plaque had been stripped away, leaving a slightly yellowed remnant of some sort of long-dried glue where it had been. Hamilton glanced one way and then the next—Lois and Clark both mirrored his actions. He pulled out his key and fit it to the lock.

It wouldn't turn.

Hamilton took it out, frowned at the key as he held it up to his eyes, then tried again. Still no success.

"They must have changed the lock," he declared. "Sorry, I—"

Lois didn't wait. Every moment in these white walls was increasing her feeling of unease. She reached for her picklocks and credit card—taking both in hand.

Lois couldn't help but smile a bit triumphantly when, less than a minute later, the door swung open.

All this practice was really beginning to pay off.

The smile dropped from her face, however, when she saw the stripped down and bare laboratory on the other side of the door.

They stepped in. Hamilton was wringing his hands as Clark stepped forward, looking around intently. Lois turned to the professor.

"Thanks for your help," she said. "We can take it from here."

"You sure?" Hamilton asked, his eyes following Clark's movements. Clark had walked slowly to the center of the immaculate lab, and now stood with his hands in his pockets as he looked about with apparent ease.

"I'm sure," Lois said, also watching her partner's back as he stood between bare metal tables and the white walls. She swallowed, feeling very closed in. She wanted out of there right now.

How could he stand it? How could he still be so strong? How had he dealt with it all, all alone?

And now, with what they had learned . . . what must he be thinking? Feeling?

Hamilton nodded and looked at them both one last time before turning and leaving. Clark hardly seemed to notice, but bent down and started staring at the floor, his eyes dark behind his glasses. It might have been the light, or perhaps the surrounding whiteness of the room, but his face did look a bit pale—his lips tight and grim.

They _both _needed out of there.

Lois realized that it was a bit odd for her to be standing there, just watching him do the searching. Shifting her purse over her shoulder, she got to work. Maybe he had super-vision or whatnot, but there might be something he could miss. After all, he was only—

Human?

Lois shook her head as she started opening the cupboards.

_Only one man. _

Of course that was what she had been about to think. Whether he was human or not didn't matter. It hadn't for Kal-El, after all.

Clark wasn't human.

_Stop, stop, stop!_ There'd be more time to think about Clark-Superman-El later.

The point was, whether Clark was a Kryptonian or a Smallvillean, they were partners—and she the senior partner at that. It was _together_ that they had already worked to become the best reporting team in Metropolis.

Lois glanced from another empty cupboard towards Clark, who had been peering over his glasses around the room.

_Using his X-Ray vision,_ Lois realized suddenly, and blinked at how obvious it was . . . and how much it explained. _So that's how he does it! _Even she couldn't say if the mental outburst felt more affectionate, triumphant, or something else entirely.

"Find anything?" Lois asked, pushing the emotions along with the gabbling voices in her head to the back of her mind.

Fumbling suddenly, Clark readjusted his glasses and faced her.

"N-nothing," he said.

Initial disappointment from his answer stopped as Lois noticed him fidgeting and still looking at a place against the far blank wall, which was devoid of any visible thing of interest.

"Oh," Lois said, glancing at him to the wall and back. "Well, I'll go peek out to make sure our way is clear, and we can leave."

She deliberately turned her back and walked towards the closed door. She could feel Clark's eyes on her back as she opened the door, poked her head out, and then actually stepped completely out.

She kept the door open but a sliver behind her, her hand on the doorknob.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . . ._

"Lois?"

_Bingo. _

Lois stepped back inside the room to see Clark standing there, a sheath of papers in his hands. Behind him a small panel that had been invisible to her eye had opened, but was now empty.

_Ha!_ She could read him like a book, that was for sure.

She couldn't wait until they could just work together, though, without all of this nonsense.

"How did you find that?" Lois asked the expected question perfunctorily, trying to appear surprised.

"Well, L-lois, I—uh—"

Lois used her famed impatience for her partner to save him from having to stumble awkwardly over a lousy, made-up story.

Some other time she might consider it fair consequence for his long-time reluctance to tell her, but right now she just wanted to get out of here.

"Never mind. What is it?" she interrupted him.

Besides, she didn't like to see Kal-El lie to her. Even if he meant it for the best, it was too painful for her—and she thought she could see it was painful for him, too.

He opened his mouth, but she overrode him again. "No, wait. Never mind again. Let's just go. We can read them in the car, okay?"

They'd spent enough time here.

---------------------------------------------

"Cats," Clark said grimly as Lois pulled her jeep out of the parking lot. They didn't want to stay close to anything Luthor longer then they absolutely had to.

"What?" Lois asked.

"He was experimenting on cats. It's all here, even if half of it is a bunch of medical jargon. Looks like he tried near everything in the book on them." He tossed the thick folder onto his lap, and Lois glanced over to see the files—each page with a small picture of a cat taped to the top. Clark bowed his head and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.

"What is it?" Lois said, immediately concerned.

"Huh?" Clark looked up at her. "Oh, nothing. I . . . something's just itching at the back of my mind. I'm just trying to remember what—"

"Hold it!" Lois said, suddenly swerving into an open parking space on the side of the road. The driver behind her blared his horn angrily. Lois didn't even bother with a returning curse, but just jerked to a stop, put the car into park, and pulled out her purse. She caught hold of a now wrinkled and dog-eared packet of papers and began flipping through it, scanning quickly.

"Lois, what—?"

"_Inhumane research on stray cats,_" Lois said, jabbing a finger at a note in the margin of Clark's well-used list of his suspicions on Luthor's activities. " Clark, this is some of your notes on Lex you accidentally left behind. Do you think it's connected?"

Clark took the paper from her slowly, frowning at the note scribbled in on his own handwriting. He'd made the note over two months ago, when he'd picked up a hint that a number of cats were disappearing from around the city. Some deeper looking into the problem had revealed that strays were going missing in even larger quantities. Clark had managed to catch two of the cat-snatchers in the act, had overheard Luthor's name, and had followed them to a lab. He'd taken the place down, but hadn't found any evidence on Luthor—the man was just too slippery. Yet . . . .

"I've got some notes and stuff I copied from the labs," Clark said. "They're at my place, if you want to—"

But he didn't have the time to finish the question. Lois's jeep wheels squealed as she shot out of the parking space, causing another driver to slam on his brakes and lean on his horn as he fired curses after her.

"L-Lo-is!" Clark stuttered.

Lois couldn't help but laugh at his panicked expression as he was plastered back against his seat from the acceleration. _Come on, Clark. You're invincible. Besides, you of all people should know that this is not all that fast, Mr. Faster-than-a-Speeding-Bullet despite the fact that you probably learned to drive in an old, dusty tractor on some bumpy back-road in Nowheresville. _

"Come on, Smallville," Lois said, darting between two slower cars into another lane and eliciting another loud honk behind her. "I'm just trying to get us to your apartment before dinner time."

"A-all you're going to get us is a ticket," Clark returned. "Besides, it's barely lunchtime." Lois grinned at him, not caring if her cheery attitude confused the poor man.

She knew Superman was all right. She was Superman's _partner, _for crying out loud. He was going to be okay, the investigation on Luthor was _finally _making some headway, and come this evening all the cards were going to be on the table between herself and Kal-Super-Clark-El Krypt-ville Kentman.

What?

Lois shook her head. Keep this up and she was going to have mashed potatoes for brains.

She glanced over at Clark, her elation sobering somewhat as she looked at his features. Still a bit drawn, definitely worried—goodness, the man had to be the greatest brooder she had ever met. He seemed to be enjoying the sun on his face from the open window. How much did he need, these days? Should she make some excuse to stop at a park so he can get out and sun a bit before they went on again? He might not have made it too obvious how much he needed it the past few days, but she hadn't really been paying attention and, honestly, today was the best he'd looked in a long time. She didn't want him to overdo himself.

Clark seemed to sense her gaze on him and turned his face.

"Y-you need to be more careful, Lois," he said.

"What?" Lois took a sharp left turn.

"Driving," Clark said with a hint of a smile in his voice despite his concern—she figured she would have missed it if she hadn't heard Kal-El's inflection in the tone. "You're not Superman, you know."

_Oh, ho! You think you're so clever, mister _

How often had he made such horrible jokes without her being able to notice the irony of it all?

"But apparently you think you are," Lois replied calmly. She had to stifle the sudden urge to giggle at the wide-eyed, farm-boy awkward expression that came over his face as he stared at her in confusion. He blinked, adjusted his glasses, and shifted in his coat before giving a small, nervous, hint of a sideways grin.

"W-why do you say that, Lois?"

"Goodness, Clark. Have you ever looked at yourself? When was the last time you took a break? You're either out busting bad guys with me, saving cats and little kids from trees, or helping old ladies across the street. No doubt the whole time you were in Smallville you were helping your mom with the farm or anything else you could possibly think of. There isn't a more selfless, honest, determined-to-do-good boy scout in the world—and that includes Superman. Trust me, I know."

_Then why why why had she been so blind to who he was? It was so _obvious!

Clark looked absolutely speechless—and was that a blush in his cheeks as that grin couldn't help but grow just a little bit?

Yep.

"T-thanks, Lois." He said it softly, sincerely, and Lois felt her heart ache as she realized how much the simple, teasing words really meant to him.

"Well, it's true," Lois finished, not knowing what else to say as her thoughts took off again. She fell silent as she let her fun at watching Kal-El squirm slip away.

Clark gave her a crooked smile and looked back out the window, the wind brushing back his hair, and Lois glanced over to catch a brief glimpse of what might have been the famous curl before it was swept back into his hair.

_Oh my gosh. _

That had been _Kal-El_ that she had been lecturing those days before, about how he should grow a backbone and be able to ask. Lois had a sudden urge to burst into insane laughter.

These sudden kicks in the gut were not becoming any gentler. They certainly were beginning to work on her sanity, that was for sure.

It was better than guilt, though. Had insisting the window stay up kept him from the sunlight he had needed?

Curse this whole situation.

She jerked to a stop in a space in front of his apartment and jumped out. They both headed up the stairs. Lois watched carefully to make sure he wasn't limping.

Good.

But she knew better than any that the worst scars weren't on the outside.

"How are you doing, Clark?"

"Huh?"

Lois didn't meet his gaze—keeping her eyes on the steps as she moved upwards. It was beginning to hit her how utterly unfeeling she really had been towards Clark Kent—and it didn't matter that it turned out that he was Superman. Her actions towards him had been completely uncaring and made her stutter with shame as she remembered. "W-well, you know. It's been a hard couple weeks for you. First, with Bureau 39, then with your dad. . . You haven't had a break."

Clark stared at her, his dark eyes reflecting a flash of pain at memories, a moment of confusion, and then his brow furrowed and concern took it's place.

"I-I'm fine," he said. "A-are_ you_ okay? You . . .you're . . . well . . . ."

_Acting kind of funny. _

"I'm just spiffy," Lois replied, then winced at the word choice. Where did _that_ come from? Clark's eyebrow rose at her word choice.

"Spiffy?" he repeated.

"Well, you know, yeah . . . spiffy," Lois shrugged. They reached Clark's door and Clark unlocked it and held it open for her to enter first before stepping in behind her and closing the door.

"Would you like some coffee, Lois? I could make some up really quick, if you like."

How fast _could _Superman make up a batch of coffee, Lois wondered.

"No. Let's just look over this and see if there's anything of use. If we can cover enough bases tonight I . . . well, I kind of fixed us a picnic. I thought we could go to the park for lunch or something." Clark stared at her as if she had gone full-on insane and she spoke quickly. "Well, I put everything in the cooler, anyway. The lemonade is from the store and the sandwiches were ready-made, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?" she finished defensively. She put her hands on her hips, flustered. "Where are these notes of yours?"

Clark started and tripped on his own shoes as he turned—it looked too ridiculous to be an accident, and that amused Lois to no end as he adjusted his glasses with a murmured apology, a touch of red in his cheeks. "Just . . . uh, in my bedroom. Just a sec."

Lois waited, looking around the fully-lighted room as she listened to Clark moving in his room. She hadn't found the notes while she had been searching, and she wondered distractedly where he had hid them.

The apartment looked so different in the full light of day. Sunlight streamed through the windows, settling comfortably on the couches, the bookshelves, the picture-frames and other odds and ends that Clark had collected over his travels. Lois decided she couldn't have thought of a more fitting place for Superman to live, no matter what her imagination might have cooked up before she had come to really know the man inside the suit.

"Here we are," Clark said, coming back with a folder in his hand. He pulled out a smaller packet and handed it to her. "There's not much, though."

Lois took the papers and sat down at the couch. Clark hovered for a moment, then stepped forward to sit on the couch across from her.

"Sit here, Clark," Lois said, scooting over a bit to make more room. "You can't see the papers from way over there."

And that was the reason. _Really. _

Right.

Well, she supposed he _could_ have seen the papers from over there. He could probably even _read them_—through the paper and all. Or was it even possible to read letters printed on paper you were scanningthrough?

"Thanks," Clark said, sitting next to her. His leg brushed hers and he apologized and moved further over. Lois wanted to tell him that she didn't mind, but decided that would give raise to his suspicions far too much.

_Well, this isn't awkward at all, _Lois thought dryly.

Clark was right—there really wasn't much in the papers. Just a few pictures of the lab he had found, some names of the doctors and thugs involved—but nothing rang a bell or even looked vaguely familiar. Lois frowned, not happy that this latest lead wasn't leading anywhere. Her stomach growled, though not loud enough for any normal man to hear.

Right on cue, "Can I get you something, Lois? To eat, I mean?"

Lois sighed and dropped the papers down on his coffee table, sitting back to rub her forehead. The high of progress in the chase was wearing off, and she was once again beginning to feel the effects of lack of sleep from the night before.

"No, Clark, that's all right," she said, rubbing her temples. Clark leaned forward, gathering up the papers that had been laid out over the coffee table during Lois's search. "I just was so _sure_ . . . ."

She trailed off. Clark finished gathering the papers. "W-we can look further into this, Lois. There's a lot here that may have connections and we just haven't seen it yet."

"I just feel so _close_," Lois grumbled.

"We'll take this back to the Planet and look over it," Clark said. "We might find some connections."

Lois couldn't help but smile at his optimistic tone, though she kept her head bowed so he couldn't see it. When she lifted her head, there was only a small quirk at her lips.

"We can do that later," she said. "I'm starving. Are you hungry?"

Clark shrugged, the sunlight from the window resting on his head. "Sure."

"Good. Come on. I've been stuck inside too much and it's time we _both_ take a break." Lois stood, taking her purse back in hand. Her hand shook slightly on the handle, so she held it close as she took a deep breath.

This was it. If everything went according to plan and Clark took the opportunity she was presenting him then in a matter of minutes it would all be out in the open. How would he tell her? What would he say, exactly? What would _she _say? And once it was all out in the open, what would they _do?_

Superman would take it in stride. Kal-El would probably want to sweep her off her feet and go flying. Clark . . .

That was the most important question. What in the world would Clark Kent do?

Lois and turned to face Clark. He had stood behind her, and she found herself close, looking up into his face. Suddenly breathless, the words she had been about to say fell dead and she just stared as memories slammed into her with the force of a flashflood.

She saw him, like she had the first time she had seen Superman as he darted into the space station and swallowed a bomb—saving her life and all others on board. She saw him, curled up and pale in the white room but still managing to smile—just for her. She saw him, sitting across from her desk day after day, always ready to help her despite how often she had shrugged him off.

_Please let this work out all right. _

"L-Lois? Wh-what is it?" Clark asked nervously, adjusting his glasses.

Lois swallowed, remembering their kiss early that morning, before Kal-El had left her. Before Clark had left her.

She had known who he was, then, and she had kissed him—Superman, Kal-El, _and_ Clark. The whole package.

She had kissed Clark Kent. And it had been beautiful.

"N-nothing, Clark," she said with forced carelessness, tearing her eyes away from him. "Come on. I'll drive us to Central Park and we can eat there. I know the perfect place."

And she led the way to the door, unable to look at him again unless she couldn't stop the emotion threatening to pour out of her, but having to exert her whole will-power not to do so.

And then it hit her. It hit her so hard she almost staggered, yet at the same time some corner of her mind laughed at the thought that she hadn't really recognized it until then.

It was so simple. Stupid, foolhearty, clutzy-farmboy and all . . . She loved him.

She loved _Clark Kent._

It was ridiculous. It made her want to laugh. It made her want to break down into tears of joy mixed with relief . . . but she couldn't yet. They had to put all the cards on the table—but before that, they both had to acknowledge that they _had_ cards, and were playing the same game.

_Please let this work out all right_.

She didn't know if she could bear waiting any longer.

TBC . . .

Thanks for reading, everyone! Please remember to review!


	45. At Last, At First

Well, here we go. Valar—I'd forgotten that I left you all at such a terrible spot! Gah! Thank goodness there's no sign of wild men or chainsaws yet!

Here it is. I'm (rightfully) quite nervous, especially since it's been so long. I hope so very much that you like it!

This is dedicated to YOU. I could make a very long list right now, but that'd take too long, and I want to get this chapter up. I'm thinking of you, my constant reviewers, who have stuck by me through the thick and thin. And, of course, my constant lurkers as well, whom I sympathize with and continue to encourage to come out of the shadows and join us.

Thank you all for your encouragement!

Enjoy!

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Chapter 45: At Last, At First

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Clark fidgeted in the car, fixing his eyes sightlessly out the window and trying not to let them drift, once again, to the woman in the driver's seat. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock the grey fear that had seized him; its refreshing warmth only seemed to emphasize the growing pit of sickness in his stomach.

The "_soon_" that had been echoing in his head for days—even weeks, now—had turned into a gibbering, insistent, mind-blinding, "_now!"_

_Now-now-now-now-now! _

All right, maybe not _right_ now, but _soon_-now!

He realized he was staring at her again and forced his gaze out the window towards the two-o'clock sun. He was making her nervous with that. He wasn't ignorant of Lois's raised heartbeat—the extra flush in her cheeks and heat coming off her skin, her hands on the wheel.

_She _was nervous.

Why?

He hoped she wasn't thinking about Bureau 39. He knew how it could sneak up behind him and blindside him so easily. He knew how it was to be walking along and having his mind swept away, freezing him and shocking him—jerking his heart back to _then_, and freezing him in ice.

He shuddered.

_No. _That was then. This was _now. _

He was going to tell her. She was going to _know._ And then . . . and then. . .

His hands clenched—they were damp with sweat, and guilt mixed with shame sat like a cube of black, frozen tar in his gut.

_What was she going to think of him?_

Sometimes it seemed like she hardly could _tolerate_ Clark Kent's presence. Today was a rare, _very_ good day. She was actually going to have lunch with him. At a _park_.

If it were any other woman, or even Lois with any other man, Clark would have thought that it was a not-very-sneaky way of having a casual date.

Ha!

Lois? With him— Clark? Right.

He cringed internally, something like the pain of a needle twisting in his heart, making him claustrophobic in his own chest cavity.

But the park was good. Hopefully he'd be able to steer them to a more secluded corner, away from everyone else, just in case (when) shescreamed or flew off the handle. Hopefully he could physically hold her back until she was calm enough to not shout his secret to the world. Of course, that would probably just make her more furious, because _nobody_ "held Lois Lane back"—especially someone she was angry at, and rightfully so.

Clark resisted the urge to groan and cover his face with his hands.

But she was in a good mood. That was hopeful, he thought desperately as he a hand through his hair for the nth time. And if he was right and it was _Superman_ that had put her in such a good mood, maybe things wouldn't be quite as bad. Maybe.

Or maybe it would be worse.

He had kissed her, despite the fact that he had promised himself that he wasn't going to take advantage of her—that she would know everything before he did such a thing.

Or she had kissed him—_Superman, _that is. He wasn't sure which one it was. But it certainly didn't make the situation any simpler, one way or another.

Lois thought she loved Superman. No—Lois thought she loved Kal-El. But who _was_ Kal-El? Clark had long since viewed Superman as a sort of mask—a safeguard to protect his life, his family, his friends . . . but who was Kal-El?

Another mask? No—it wasn't that. But it wasn't Clark Kent either, exactly. But what was the difference?

He honestly couldn't say he knew. In both cases—as both Clark Kent and Kal-El—for Lois he felt like he was trying to act like himself . . . How could the end result be so different?

One side of him, Lois tolerated. Perhaps they could be considered some sort of friends. The other side she loved and would give—_had _given—everything for.

_What had he gotten himself into? _

It didn't look like he was going to be able to get out of it easily, either . . . and that terrified him.

After Logram, Bureau 39, Luthor—everything paled behind the risk of the disappointment of Lois.

By the time Lois pulled into the parking lot he was sure he felt like he was sweating bullets. His suit beneath his work clothes felt uncomfortable and too tight, and he felt strangely light-headed.

_Breathe, Clark. Breathe. _

Why? He could usually hold his breath for . . . well . . . a long time, but right now he felt like he was suffocating.

Lois glanced at him as she opened her door, and he remembered to follow suit. He fumbled with the doorknob, but took extra care not to trip or stumble as he climbed out of the car.

He didn't want to have Lois have _another_ fresh reminder of how much of a complete klutz and idiot Clark Kent was.

He went around the back of the car to see Lois had already opened the back door and had lifted a grocery sack. She nodded towards an ice chest in the car.

"Think you can handle it alone?" she asked.

Teasing. She was _teasing _him. No doubt she half-expected Clark to have to struggle with the weight of . . . whatever she had in there. Resisting the nervous urge to peer inside with his x-ray vision to see if she had weighted it down intentionally or not, Clark stepped forward.

Goodness, why would she do such a thing anyway?

"I-I—" No. No stuttering. "Of course, Lois."

_That's right. Play it cool. Now step forward—careful not to knock into her! Watch your shoelaces! All right. Now pick up the cooler. Careful. That's it. Don't make it look too easy, now. _

_Why not_? Clark asked the cautioning voice in his head. _She's going to know in just a minute anyway. _

Just a minute. . . .

_Just remember what you've practiced. _

Right

_"Lois, I've been needing to tell you something . . . ." _

"You coming, Clark?"

He realized that he was standing there as if his feet had been cemented to the road, staring at her as she moved onto the pathway of the park. Starting, he stumbled forward.

"Sorry." He would have adjusted his glasses, but his hands were busy carrying the cooler—which wasn't heavy even in normal terms, Clark was sure.

_Smooth one, Clark. Real smooth. Concentrate, now. It's almost time. _

They left the path and cut across the grass, towards the trees where no one else seemed to be around. Good. It looked like he wouldn't even have to nudge Lois in the right direction.

Almost time.

_" . . . and I really hope you won't be too angry, though you have perfect reason to be . . . ." _

Lois stopped in a small kind of clearing in the shade of the trees and looked around. Clark could hear children playing, dogs running, old men playing chess, and a mother trying to stop her little son's crying . . . in an airplane probably over 20,000 feet in the air above them. Nobody was close to them. He set the cooler down on the grass at Lois's orders.

_" . . . but after everything—everything you've done, I owe you the truth—" _

_"I—I—I . . . ." _

_"HELP SUPERMAN!" _

Clark jerked upright at the sound, instinctively readying himself for an excuse, for a dart to run off and make a rescue . . .

_No. _

The pressure in his chest grew to a near panic and he froze, near choking on his own lungs—wanting to sink down on the ground in horrified tears.

What should he do—what _could_ he do?!

Not _now! _

Lois had noticed Clark's sudden stiffness. " Clark?" she asked, laying out the tablecloth. She looked up and her heart sank.

She knew that expression.

Oh, why _now!? _

Clark's eyes went to her—he looked positively anguished.

"L-lois," he stuttered, choking on his own condemnation. "I've . . . I've got to go." He braced himself—for her fury, for her demanding of an explanation—

"Go, Clark," Lois said, sounding as serious as he had ever heard her—but not angry. He looked at her, torn and anguished. "Whatever it is, just go!"

He wasn't about to stick around to find an explanation from her. "L-lois—I'll be back."

"I can wait, Clark. I _will_ wait," Lois said firmly. _I promise_.

Clark nodded, though it was quick and distracted by whatever he was hearing. He cast one last look at her before turning and walking quickly into the trees. In seconds he was out of sight.

Lois didn't hear a sonic boom, even though she strained her ears for it. That was fine. He was probably trying to be more careful. And he should be. He _had _to be.

She plopped down cross-legged on the tablecloth with a long, frustrated sigh. Of course she wasn't upset with him, but _why _did fate seemed so fixed against them? Was it just bad karma? She frowned at the food she had begun to pull out of the ice chest and sighed again before beginning to put everything back.

She hoped he would not be long, but there was no way to know. And she _was_ going to wait for him. She swore it.

She was going to wait for him all day—all night, if necessary.

All the next day too, if he had been called away to China or somewhere for something big (how far did his hearing work, anyway?). She could phone in to Perry and tell her she was taking a day off, and take no argument. She was glad she had brought plenty of food, and she could use the tablecloth as a blanket . . .

_She wasn't leaving this park until he came back, and told her everything. _

Set and fixed only more firmly because of fate's continued opposition, Lois closed the icebox and lay down on her stomach. With one last sigh, she reached over and pulled _The Scarlet Pimpernel _out of her bag, opened to her bookmarked spot, and began to read.

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Clark had no sooner saved a young couple from the hands of some thick (in more than one way) muggers near Suicide Slum when the bigger news caught his ear and he darted south towards South America and the mine that had collapsed in Argentina.

Every second took him hundreds of miles away from New Troy, from Metropolis . . . from Lois.

His heart shrank with every millisecond, and with the speed he was going he could feel it like a knife whittling away at his heart.

There was no question in whether he should have stayed with Lois or not. He _couldn't _have stayed. So he had left.

_But it wasn't fair._

Not to him. Not to _Lois. _

How many times had he run off on her like this?

How many more times could she take?

How many more times could _he_ take?

Clark had long lost count—if he was ever keeping track in the first place—of how many times he'd sacrificed time, effort, energy, and even risked his life before to save others. And it had always been worth it—it always was worth it. How could he be so selfish so as to judge those little things as more valuable than those he helped?

But this was the first time that he felt as if he had sold his last chance for happiness.

_Lois . . . ._

But no. He had already decided that he couldn't let these things go. He couldn't let the suffering continue—not while he could help.

Never, so long as he could help.

_No matter what it cost him? _

He worked as quickly as he could at the mine site—though work was much slower than he liked due to the risk of causing further collapse to the tunnels below where a number of miners were trapped. He worked grimly—speaking only scarcely, and though he was focused on his work, a part of him was far away—back in Metropolis. He peered through earth and rock, listening for the faintest beat of heart before burrowing in, careful not to accidentally crush the survivors as he pulled them to safety, but with every inhale of filthy, smoke-and-mud-thick air, came the anguish and clashing of too-many desperate thoughts that had built up and begun to peak throughout the day.

Would this be the last straw for Lois Lane?

_And Logram . . . had he done it all for his daughter? Had Luthor somehow forced him into it?_ Clark knew better than anyone how cruel and manipulative Luthor could be.

Lois had said she would wait. But he'd left her again. She was so angry last time . . . and this time, after all the trouble she'd gone through—she'd actually fixed a _picnic_, for heaven sakes! Small as that seemed beside everything else, the thought made his stomach clench like someone had stuck a fist of kryptonite clean through him.

He'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

_The experiments . . . whatever Lex had meant with it, good had come of it after all. If he had sworn to protect the helpless—the innocent—from the darkness of the world, wasn't this among the worst of it? The silent, slow, painful threat of disease that was even less merciful than Luthor himself? _

And Lois had been in such a good mood all day. Odd, certainly—but good nonetheless. And they had actually been working as a _team_, as good as before the white room, if not _better_.

Had he just given up all of that by leaving her once again?

_If he was really Superman, he should do his best to help take care of this new evil—the unseen enemy that his very blood and bone could cure. Otherwise, how could he claim to stand up for Truth when he was a liar to himself, even when he had sworn to do all he could do to help on the memory of his father? _

What would he do, though?

_Go to a doctor he trusted? The only one he knew was Hamilton. But did he know enough about blood, about cancer . . . . And could he trust him with this? _

The world knew about the myth of kryptonite, at least but they still weren't exactly sure what it did to him. To get . . . whatever they needed from him—

_Red blood, pouring out of an open wound like the pit of broken earth that pulsed with frantic, fading human hearts deep in the earth beneath him. _

—they would need to use Kryptonite, to weaken him—

_White bone, dug deep from his being with knives as hot as the devil's touch, searing him of his humanity—making him fear, making him quiver— _

—to tear him apart—

_—reducing him to nothing but a shivering animal . . . an alien. A threat— _

—to take that part of him away and study him—

_—And over it all, a sickly green, with the light ripping into his very soul and tearing him apart—leaving him broken, helpless, weeping—Nothing amidst the terrible whiteness . . . _

—like a rat dissected under a microscope, always with cold, prying eyes watching like soulless lenses . . .

_. . . . he was nothing but a child. . . terrified, vulnerable, alone . . .so weak . . . . _

Lois had asked if they could give him anything for the pain. Logram had answered in the negative—and somehow, Clark couldn't help but think that in that, at least, the man had been telling the truth.

_Heaven help him_ . . . He couldn't go through that again.

_Then he was a liar._ _A fake. He had been so self-righteous in the face Logram, even in his helplessness—knowing that no matter what happened or what he was accused of, he had done his best for the world. _

It was just pain. He'd heal . . . . It'd end. He would forget. It would be worth it.

_. . . he'd heal. _

Would he?

He needed Lois. He needed to talk to her. He needed her to tell him what to do.

To tell him that he was just a man. And that it was okay for him to be afraid—for him not to do this . . .

To tell him that he was a hero, and that he could do it. She believed in him, and she'd help him through it. She could help him through anything.

She'd already shown him that.

It took him longer than he had even feared to finish up his work at the mine. It seemed as if the whole front of the mountain had simply slumped over—too tired and hollowed out to give any more to those who picked at its heart. Clark was able to dig right through the slop to save most of the unfortunate miners who had not been able to get clear.

Five men died.

They were probably crushed to death immediately; they didn't suffer before the end, fortunately.

_Fortunately? _

Only five.

_Only? _

How could anyone say that? Think that? One was too much, and if they _had_ suffered, he might have found them in time. They might have hurt, but they would be _alive_.

Hadn't he learned, more than anything, that life was worth any measure of pain?

_Was it? _

It was worth any sacrifice that a single man could make.

His lips were tight as he felt each chilling body he dug from the pit. Dirt clung beneath his fingernails from his digging—tools didn't work with him, and he could move faster without them. His filthy hands trembled as he eased them out, feeling the cold of their unnaturally pale skin beneath the grime. Feeling how fragile, how easily broken they were, especially now—cold and still beneath his hands.

He flew their crushed, mud-crusted bodies down to the rescuers and lay them down carefully—straining—as if the empty shells of men were more heavy than rockets or mountains he was famed to be able to move.

He lay down the last body and straightened, looking around the oddly shadowed mountain, and the black smear of fallen earth. All was silent—all were accounted for. His work was done.

He took to the sky without a word, not wanting to stick around for the usual appreciative thanks. He didn't think he could face that right now.

He didn't have anything to say. Sorry was too little. Anything was too little. Everything was too little, even though he'd done what he could. Everyone was safe, or dead.

A nice, clean rescue.

He had done everything he could. He had come as soon as he had heard. But in some things he was still as helpless as any.

_He was just one man. Against death, against separation—he was nothing. Even with strength, power—even whatever Logram had found in his blood—there were limits. There would always be pain. Always be death. _

_And if Lois left him, there was nothing he could do to make her change her mind _

He could only do so much.

Clark flew straight back to Metropolis—aiming for the park and ignoring the logical part of his mind that told him to check The Planet, or Lois's home. Or anywhere but Central Park. He'd run out on her twice in just three days—but at least he hadn't fallen asleep this time. Still, he couldn't see her really waiting, all this time.

Metropolis greeted him, the still-bustling city alight in the early glow of the setting sun over the bay.

It was beautiful, Clark thought. The sun sent rays of deep fire and blooms to gleam off cold, faceless buildings and set them alight, like some celestial flame burning away the darkness and turning it all to color and goodness and light.

Central Park, in contrast, was grey-green in the shadows of the tall towers around it. The trees were quiet and still, and the small lake there glimmered palely with some reflection of a reflection of a reflection of some distant light.

His heart shriveled and weighed him down as he grew close to it, and he slowed—hovering high in the air above the blend of brilliant color mixed with cold white and silver and black.

So much for good intentions. He would have to wait another day . . . again . . .

Maybe even another one after that, and another one and another one . . . Until she spoke to him again.

_If ever . . . _

It wasn't fair to her to have to deal with this either.

He sighed heavily, causing a nearby cloud to cease in its seaward drift and hover in the chilling air indecisively.

Clark frowned at it, watching the tendrils of mist swirl as if disturbed by an invisible hand—shifting but directionless. He paused, then took a second to fly around the cloud and give it a short breath to push it back on its course. He watched it move forward for a moment, moving like a living thing up there with him. Finally catching himself and pushing aside whatever was threatening to choke him, he looked down.

And for once in his life, Clark couldn't believe his eyes.

Lois was still there. She was still there, at the park, at nearly the same place that he had left her. She was lying there—from here he could see the gentle rise and fall of her back as she breathed, and the soft tickle of her hair against her cheek that had fallen over brow as she slept.

She was still there.

Superman dropped faster than gravity—faster than sound, faster than light—turning in a barely visible blur as he fell, and a fraction of a second later Clark Kent was standing but ten short paces from where Lois lay on the blanket.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, however, he found he couldn't move, so he just stood there, strangely breathless and afraid to wake her, or to move any closer and perhaps cause her to vanish like some last mists of a dream.

No wonder she was asleep—no doubt she was exhausted, especially after the scarce sleep the night before. She'd been tired for weeks—driving herself into the dirt in a way that only Lois Lane could manage. Careless of herself or her own wellbeing, she'd pulled her classic move and gritted her teeth against luck and odds and refused to blink, falter, or slow in her pursuit of her goal.

But that was Lois. Once she put her mind to something, she was impossible to shake.

Being around Lois made him realize how fragile humans were. One moment of hesitation on his part, or one moment's bad luck . . . and he could lose her. So easily hurt, so easily sickened, so easily tired.

_He could still feel the dead in his hands. Their cold shells, empty, like so many he hadn't been able to save . . . _

But being around Lois . . . She made him realize how impossibly strong humans could be.

How she would never ever stop doing what she deemed to be right—even if it killed her.

She'd come close enough to that enough that he knew it to be true.

He took a slow step forward. Her face was rested on her arm as she slept, and the lunchbasket had clearly been raided and was now nearly empty save for a half-eaten sandwich and some wrappers. That was unexpected. If she'd fallen asleep right after he had left she wouldn't have had the time to eat nearly the whole meal-for-two.

But then again, this was Lois—a compulsive eater when she was nervous or upset. And Clark's heart sunk further into the growing night at the thought of how upset she must be this time.

They'd lost a good half a day's work. Of course she'd be upset. She'd be beyond upset.

And he'd betrayed her trust again.

He didn't even want to try to imagine how beyond upset she was going to be.

He took another step forward, listening to the grass bend beneath his feet. It sounded terribly loud, and the usual roar of cars and humanity seemed removed—almost as if he were hearing it through a very long tunnel.

His gaze paused at the copy of _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ on the blanket right beside Lois's hand. The bookmark was at the end—she'd probably finished it while she had waited.

He felt a sudden bittersweet wave of feeling at that. He loved her so much.

_Lois, Lois. Can't you see what's hiding in your shadow? Can't you see who been walking by your side? _

He might have been content just to stand there and watch her, but at that moment her brow furrowed and she shifted in the beginnings of uneasy sleep. Her fist clenched unconsciously, and he stepped forward, listening to the increase of her heart beat as her dreams turned towards nightmares. He came to her side, crouching down and putting a feather-light hand on her shoulder.

"Lois?" he said softly. "Lois. It's just a dream."

It certainly felt like it sometimes, didn't it? It was amazing how incredibly real life could feel, yet he could look back and see the swimming faces of white and black and a blur of color, and wonder if it was all just one beautiful, gruesome, devastating, miraculous, tragic, glorious haunting mix of nightmare and dream.

Like fallen dirt, crushing hopes and life. Like surfing along the cresting wave of dawn with Lois in his arms. Like white rooms, bleaching away humanity and hope. Like the glow of the sun that turned a grey world to fire.

But Lois . . . Lois was real. She was there.

_Please don't let her vanish like a dream before him. Let her stay there, and don't ever, ever, ever let him wake up again . . . _

She stirred slightly under his hand, turning her face towards him as she woke.

"Mmm," her eyes opened blurrily. "Kal-El?"

"L-Lois . . . ."

Lois blinked and jerked upright into a sitting position—and would have knocked her head right into Clark's if he had not pulled back quickly at near-super speed. She blinked at him for a moment.

"Oh! Clark." She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head to wake herself fully up.

_'Oh. Clark'? _

Just give her a minute for it to hit her. Give her a second to notice how the sun was now all but fully set, casting a dark, blue-and-black obsidian gleam to the skyscrapers visible through the trees.

Give her a moment to realize, and to tear into him like needles and fire.

She yawned, running a hand through her already-ruffled hair and mussing it further. Clark would have smiled had it not been for the fact that he felt he was falling, waiting for an explosion . . . . Waiting for his heart to stop . . . .

All right, give her another minute.

He felt like he was going to choke.

"What time is it?" Lois asked, looking up at him again.

Here it was. "A-almost nine."

Let her sit there. Let her do the math.

That's right—he'd been gone for seven hours.

Here it was . . . .

_Would the world end by fire or by ice . . . ? _

"Oh."

Clark stared at her. _'Oh'?_ Maybe he _was_ dreaming.

Silence. Lois was just looking at him, her hair tousled from her sleep, looking as if she were holding back a question, but not an angry one. Was she still asleep, perhaps, despite the fact that her eyes were open? What was she doing?

"Y-you waited?" Clark stuttered, more to fill the growing silence than for conversation. He expected her to blow up at any second now—the wait was worse than the actual event.

"I said I would." Lois said, standing. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering—waiting.

"Y-yeah . . . b-but . . . ."

"You said you'd come back," Lois continued, looking fully awake in the growing shadows. "You wouldn't lie about that."

Clark was finding it strangely hard to breathe. His mouth still tasted like dust and dirt, despite the dip into the Pacific and dart through the upper atmosphere he'd taken on the way here. He swallowed, trying to swallow it all away. He tugged at his tie, loosening it and pulling at his collar. His hand shook, and he hastily shoved it into his pocket, not wanting her to see it

Lois noticed the action and stepped back, blinking as if snapping fully awake, but still no anger showed through her face. She bit her lip, looking suddenly awkward

"I—I was going to wait for you," she said, then stuttered. "Well, I did wait, but I was going to save something for you. Some food, I mean. But . . . I got hungry and you didn't come back and while I was reading I wasn't really paying attention, and . . . well, you know."

An automatic, hesitant, shaking smile broke out of Clark's braced confusion at her babbling, though he felt, perhaps, closer to tears. She seemed even more incoherent than usual, and defensive, but not in the offensive-defensive way that Lois Lane was known for (if that made sense).

_Was he just about to shatter everything? Would anything ever be the same? _

_He would miss the babbling,_ he realized. The thought was almost absurd at a time like this.

Now_, Clark. _

Now?

Well, if she was going to be rabidly furious about him in just a second (he was still waiting for that), what was one more spark on top of the inferno?

Or another inferno on top of an inferno, rather?

Had some alien come and taken over her brain?

Clark grimaced weakly at that, feeling ill.

He was going to be sick. The lingering taste of coal in his throat didn't help.

But Lois was frowning, now—something close to a scowl as she gathered up the garbage and various wrappers and stuck them in the basket. She closed it, setting _The Scarlet Pimpernel _on top.

"L-L-Lois?"

Did her heart just literally skip a beat? Or had his own nervousness blocked out his hearing for a moment there? Or maybe his own heart's beating was drowning out hers . . . .

He crossed his arms, his still-grimy hands clammy as he looked down at her as she straightened, her eyes intent on him.

"What is it, Clark?"

He found his mouth suddenly dry. "Lois," he said, his voice soft and hardly more than a whisper. "I . . . have to tell you something."

He paused then, waiting for fate to intervene as it had time and time again, and taking one more moment to pray that this would turn out all right.

Lois said nothing, but just stepped towards him, focused as a beam of light in the coming darkness.

"I should have told you before, and I hope . . . "—hope was all he had, time after time_—_"I—I'm s-s-sorry, Lois."

He was choking. He couldn't breathe. He could feel dirt and grime on his palms—still stuck beneath his fingernails. He was cold, near shivering.

Lois frowned, and for a bare moment Clark had a bizarre thought that she might scold him for apologizing. But no—she did that for Superman, not Clark.

Just say it.

He took a slow, deep breath, and spoke slowly.

"Lois," he whispered, feeling so very weak and vulnerable that he wondered that he could even stand. He couldn't look at her—couldn't see the disappointment in her eyes. "I—I'm n-not who you think I am."

_Not human. _

"I—I never meant to l-lie . . . ."

_No. He never did. He never meant for any of this to happen. Never meant to bring her into this . . . . _

"I hope you can forgive me. I c-can't make any excuses . . . ."

_He had none that were worth their weight in words. They were all empty. Weak. Cowardly. _

"I . . . I just hope you'll just—"

_Accept me. _

"—forgive me."

_Lois . . . . Lois . . . . _

His voice was soft—was it even possible that she might not even hear him? He seemed to have lost the strength . . . lost all his strength. He couldn't look at her.

He shut his eyes, listening to her heartbeat, noticing that she was oddly quiet—was she holding her breath, or was he going numb? Falling into deafness?

"Lois," he whispered, his voice soft and low. He reached up to his glasses, feeling the cold of them against his shaking fingers. Slowly, he slipped them from his face and let his hand fall to his side. "I'm Superman."

Silence.

It was done.

The world seemed to have faded away to nothing. The sun had plunged into the ocean, and the city had gone still, save for a soft brush of wind in the empty air that echoed silence deeper than stillness.

Clark shut his eyes, fighting the horrified, shamed tears behind his darkened lids.

Was this death? A sudden wave of terror, followed by nothing? He was numb, cold, standing there more vulnerable and exposed than he had ever felt before. Was he even there anymore, or had he taken to the air and vanished into empty space without noticing? Without anyone noticing?

_I'm Superman._

How could so much be carried in such small, empty words?

_I'm an alien—a freak. _

_Look at me. Look at how weak your hero truly is. _

_I've lied to you. I've hidden from you, like a coward. _

_I am nothing. _

_I endanger you. _

_I don't deserve you. _

_I need you. _

It was too quiet. It was too still.

So cold.

And suddenly, she was there—a world of warmth and fire in a little whirl of wind.

Lois buried her face in his chest, and she clung to him like she had only a few nights before—only then he had been in his Suit, and she had been afraid that Superman was going to fly off without her. Now, he was just Clark. Just Clark.

He was holding her back before he knew it—holding her, never wanting to let go. His glasses fell unnoticed to the grass.

"You lunkhead," she said, her voice muffled his coat. "You cursed, foolish, thick-headed, mule-brained _idiot._" Clark flinched, about to pull back, but her grip didn't ease. "Look at me."

Clark did so—opening his eyes hesitantly. She was watching him, and despite her firm words, her tone was strangely gentle. She gave a noble attempt at a smile, even while it shook and a stray tear ran down her cheek.

"What did I tell you about details?"

_'Details?'_ Clark bit his lip as he tried to figure out what Lois was talking about . . . .

. . . and then he realized that Lois never said anything to _Clark_ about details, but to Superman_—_no, _Kal-El_—, just the night before

_"I know you. I've seen your soul. I have seen that, Kal, and it doesn't matter what little details I may or may not know, because they don't matter." _

Clark blinked at her, not knowing what to say to that—not knowing what to do. Out of all the reactions he had expected—that he had prepared for—this was not on the list.

She stepped back slowly, her eyes moving over his face as if memorizing the features all over again, but she didn't let him go. Clark couldn't believe it. Was she in shock? Or had Lois been replaced by an irrationally, inhumanly calm clone while he was gone?

"Y-you're not . . . angry?"

Lois looked away, looked down. "I was," she admitted softly. "And hurt." Clark winced.

That was worse than her anger. Worse than disappointment.

He had hurt her.

"Lois, I—I'm s-sorry . . ." he whispered.

"Don't apologize," Lois said, with that tremulous smile as she stepping back slightly. She wiped at the tears on her face, only to have them be immediately replaced. "I _know_ why you didn't tell me! It's my own s-stupid fault that I walked into that trap like a r-rookie reporter, and then I d-didn't even p-pay attention to you—_C-Clark_—when you were right there . . . r-right there, the w-whole time. . . . " She swore desperately, crying in earnest now. "How can you forgive me?"

Clark stared at her like a deer in the headlights. "W-what? No! Lois . . . I—"

Of all the reactions, he had never expected to have to defend Lois from _herself_.

"—_I_ should have told _y-you_ . . . ." He bowed his head, not able to look at her. "This is all my fault—"

"Don't you dare blame yourself!" Lois said, suddenly fire despite her tears as she clutched to him. "Not for this, not for your secrets, not for B-bureau 39, not for Luthor! _I _walked into the trap, and _I _chose to come with you, and I wouldn't change that for the world. We've been over this, Kal-El, Clark, or whatever you want to call yourself. And _I _was the one that wouldn't listen to you, and kept t-treating you like d-dirt, even after Bureau 39, and your dad, and _Lex_ . . . ." She swore again. "How can you even s-stand me?"

Clark was aghast. "Lois, you s-saved my life. Y-you . . . you've done so much for me, and I'm just . . . a coward. Just a f-foolish, idiotic c-country bumpkin."

Lois swore, and held him tight again and soaking his shirt with her tears. "See?" she said, her voice soft, guilty. "Look what I've done to you, Clark. I never meant to hurt you. I was r-ready to take on the world for you, and here I was, beating you down worse than anybody when you needed m-me the most."

"No! Don't blame yourself, Lois. You . . . you couldn't have known—"

Lois surprised him with a sudden rumble of soft laughter against his chest that cut him short.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she chuckled, wiping her tears again. "I don't care who or what you are, Clark. None of this is your fault."

"It's not yours either. Y-you . . . you've done so much . . . "

Lois looked ready to argue that last point, but wisely kept her tongue this time.

"I love you, Clark."

Clark felt pain like a lance through his heart. "L-Lois . . . . "

"I understand if, y-you know, you can't say the same thing r-right now," she added quickly, not meeting his eyes. "I—I understand, after all of this. But . . . we need each other, Clark." _I need you_. "P-please. Promise me you won't l-leave me like that again." Her eyes widened and she backpedaled, as if afraid of pressing him too much. "I—I mean, even just as friends. P-partners, you know? Just don't leave—"

Clark was still, unsure what to do. His head was resting atop hers, and he wondered if that was all right. It was so natural for him, Kal-El . . . but for him . . . Clark?

"I won't," Clark whispered. The words hung between them like an oath—unbreakable, untouchable by the world. It was enough.

Was this happening? Or was this just a dream?

"You're shaking," Lois said, her eyes concerned as she tilted her head up to see him. "Are you all right? Did you get enough sunlight? What kept you away so long?"

It was absurd—totally and completely strange to have Lois asking _him _if he was all right. If _he _had gotten enough sunlight. It was insane. And so ridiculously familiar that Clark gave a short chuckle.

"I'm fine, Lois." And as he said it he began to relax. He didn't know how this was happening, or if he was going to wake up in a moment and realize that it was all just a dream, but he was going to let it last as long as he could.

It was approaching perfect darkness—with the dim stars filtering through the cooling light of the city above them. Lois closed her eyes against Clark's chest, feeling completely secure for the first time in her life.

He was here. He wouldn't leave her. And for now, that was enough.

-----------------------------------------

When they finally parted Clark reached up to adjust his glasses on his nose, but they were gone. Lois bent down and picked them up from the grass where they had fallen unnoticed and handed them to him. He took them with a murmured thanks, and cleared his throat as he straightened, trying to compose himself. Lois was staring at him.

"What is it?" Clark asked.

"I don't know how I never saw it," she said. "I must be the blindest woman in the universe. Worse—even a blind person should have recognized you."

"No one else has, Lois," he shrugged slightly.

He should have known better than to think that Lois would be comforted by something like that. She always did think of herself far above the group of "everyone else."

They cleaned up together, some strange pall of surrealness mixed with awkwardness over them despite their reluctance to step apart. As soon as they were done they headed back to the car slowly, with Clark carrying the cooler in one hand, as his other one had slipped over Lois's as they stood, and she hadn't pulled away, but just given a soft squeeze back.

They were all but silent until they both climbed into the cab and closed the doors, with Clark lifting the notes they'd gotten from Logram's lab. Lois dug through her purse, her usual mutters absent as she gave deep cleaning a whole new meaning in search of her keys. Clark just watched her as she finally found them, pulled them out, and drove them into the ignition victoriously.

"You . . . you already knew, didn't you?" Clark asked at last. On the way to the car he had figured it was the only explanation for her reaction . . . or lack thereof.

Lois stopped, her hand dropping from the keys as she looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

Clark didn't want to say.

"Come on, Clark. You didn't really think I would fly off the deep end when you told me, did you?"

Clark looked cornered at that. Lois exhaled a soft, self-depreciating breath, not needing him to answer. "I don't blame you," she said softly, looking sad.

"How long has it been?"

Lois looked down at her hands on the wheel. "Just this morning," she admitted, ducking her head.

Oh. The picnic. Her awkward stuttering. Her consideration, and kindness. That made sense.

Clark blushed, shifted, and straightened a corner on one of the dog-eared pages he held. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Lois said by rote.

"What was it? That gave me away, I mean?" It was odd for Lois to hear his voice. It was a strange mix, fluxing between Superman's confident tone, Kal-El's warmth, and Clark's awkward, embarrassed stumbling. Lois wondered when the last time it was that he let his guard down like this. Never, except for in front of his parents? Or his mother, now, with his father gone?

Lois knew how lonely it could never be able to take off a mask. She felt a bit odd herself right now.

Clark had been with her in the white room. He'd seen her vulnerable, terrified, lost . . . helpless . . . Weak.

Clark had seen through her. Clark had seen her vulnerabilities. Clark _knew_ her, even better than Kal-El knew her . . . Because even though Kal-El knew her better than anyone . . . Clark knew _all _of her—even the snobby, self-absorbed, blind-sighted, short-tempered reporter who snubbed him time after time.

And he still loved her.

Superman still loved her. Clark still loved her, even after how she'd brushed him aside.

Besides the guilt, somehow that just made her feel warm inside.

He hadn't left her. He wasn't _going _to leave her.

It made her wonder if she could frighten him off even if she wanted to. Probably not. It'd probably be just like him trying to frighten her off. It just wouldn't work.

She liked that thought. A lot.

Lois gave him a small, sideways smile. "Well, even though I should have figured out on my own, I guess I was just too stupid. So I didn't really find out—you told me."

"What?" He supposed there were enough hints for her to put it together, if that's what she meant.

"No, you told me," Lois said, as if reading his mind. She bit her lip, looking out the window. "While you were asleep. I guess you were having a dream." She looked at him. "'Lois, I'm Superman.' You said it, just like you did tonight."

Clark looked down at the mention of his nightmares, and Lois wondered why. She'd seen his nightmares before—both wakeful and sleeping—and she could understand. There was nothing for him to be embarrassed of, especially in front of her. And it was her job to make sure he understood that.

But Clark frowned. "But . . . that _was_ Superman"

Lois wondered if he usually referred to himself in third person, or if it was just reflex, as he was dressed as Clark Kent. But then again, she'd heard Kal-El refer to "Superman" as another person before too, hadn't she?

"Sure it was. But why would Superman tell me that he was Superman?" Lois pointed out. "It didn't make sense, and once I realized that, everything kind of fell into place."

"I—I guess that makes sense," Clark said, a bit sheepishly. "So that was why—?" He stopped abruptly.

Lois knew what he had stopped himself from saying. "About today?" she finished. She bit her lip. "Clark, I . . . I _know_ you. I . . . I know there's so much I _don't _know, but I _want _to know. I know you probably think that I'm being shallow or something, that I'm saying I love you just because Superman is you. But Clark—I figured it out. Superman is _you_, and it's not the other way around. Finding out that you were Clark Kent all along explained so much that hadn't made sense before. You _are_ Kal-El—with a history, with a past. With a family, with fears, with hopes, with dreams . . . . "

Clark was staring at her with that odd admiration mixed with reverence of his. "I—I think I underestimated you again, Lois."

Lois sighed. "I don't blame you. After everything, and all . . . ." she trailed off. "But don't think you're off the hook, Ka— Clark," she smiled, embarrassed at her slip. "The more I find out about you, the more I realize that there's so much more that I haven't seen."

Clark shifted, clearly uncomfortable at her scrutinizing. "I'm just a farmboy, Lois."

"I know," she replied, almost to herself. "That's what is so amazing."

She started the car and backed up, pulling out of the parking lot.

A small, almost secretive smile grew on her face and she looked at him crookedly as she stopped at a stoplight.

" Clark? I . . . I just have to ask . . . Why do you keep lifesavers in your pocket?"

Clark shot her a startled glance, his hand shooting to his pocket automatically—and to his own surprise, he laughed.

Lois knew. Everything was going to be all right now. The nightmare was over.

The nightmare was over

TBC . . . .


	46. Hotshots

Surprise!

Yes, I am still alive, and yes--I am still working on this story, albeit a bit slowly (lol). Sorry for the very, very, very, very, very (etc.) long break since the last chapter.

This is dedicated to old fans and all of you who have not yet given up on me. Thanks for following this story and especially for reviewing it.

This chapter is specially dedicated to LexCountryLuv, who dragged me out of my monotonous and stressful corner of RL and reminded me of the good times.

Hope everyone enjoys this!

--

Chapter 46: Hotshots

--

It turned out that the lifesavers were from his mother. Apparently she'd made his suit, too.

Lois decided she really needed to get to know Mrs. Kent better.

She really hadn't taken enough time to get to know the woman, and even though her short time at the Kent farm those months ago had left her with a good enough impression, the more she learned about her the more she thought they would get along quite well.

Wait a second. Months? It was hardly over a month, wasn't it?

Lois dismissed the thought, sneaking a quick glance at Clark as she took a left turn (she didn't want him feeling self-conscious). Time didn't matter all that much anyway.

Neither of them felt like going home. Lois insisted she wasn't tired after her nap, and so she followed Clark's directions to a small Chinese restaurant. The long-braided man taking their order spoke English was not so much broken as shattered, so after a sideways glance at her Clark leaned forward and made their order in flawless Chinese (at least, as far as she could tell).

She wondered absently if the famed-stutterer Clark Kent was more fluent in Chinese than English.

But no. It wasn't that. It was confidence, or the lack thereof, that caused the stuttering. He never stuttered as Superman—not usually, she amended, but then scribbled out her line of thoughts and tried again.

No. Superman never stuttered. Kal-El stuttered—_Clark_ stuttered.

The man who held never-ending confidence on the strength and goodness of mankind in a world that was rotting from the inside out, the man who would look at her with that undying faith in his eyes, the man with the confidence in his actions that he would lay down everything of his own to uphold his principles—_that _man was a humble, self-conscious, confident-lacking stutterer.

But why?

She watched him as finished ordering, marveling that the strongest man in the world was probably the one most sensitive.

Heaven help whoever dared try to hurt him again.

Clark finished with the order and turned back to her, a bashful, almost embarrassed crooked smile on his lips.

"Sorry," he said.

Lois shook her head with a soft chuckle, watching him with her chin in her hands. "You never will learn, will you?" she marveled. "I mean, an apology here and there I might understand, but why in the world are you apologizing now?"

Clark blinked at her.

"No, really," Lois insisted. "Can you even think of a reason? Besides being brilliant, speaking another language, or ordering my dinner, I mean? Because if you're going to apologize for that, then you—" _Then you need more help than I thought. _That was what she had been about to say—which was a perfectly normal retort for one of Clark Kent's occasional dense moments. But her usual rant cut off suddenly. Her usual threats and grumblings to Clark felt so petty at best, and insensitive at worst.

Besides, Clark was already looking more guilty, not less, and she hadn't even finished, and that guilt reflected right back to her.

A rush of warm affection washed over her, followed by a strange protectiveness that was definitely weird to feel towards Clark, but wasn't a bad thing at all.

She reached out and put her hand over his where it rested on the table. "—then I'm just going to have to teach you better," she finished.

He hesitated, then turned his hand over and interlaced his warm hand in hers. Lois would have been lying if she didn't say it was a bit strange, but she wouldn't have it otherwise.

His hand always was warm, wasn't it? The only time when she'd ever felt it cold was in the White Room, and that seemed so very far away, and yet there they still sat in it, together apart from the world.

She looked into his eyes, and knew everything was going to be all right.

They would make it all right. Together. She swore it.

And heaven help anyone who tried to get in her way.

"So," Clark said after a long silence.

So indeed.

There was so much she wanted so say. So much she wanted him to say. Least pleasant of all, Lois wanted to make sure he was recovering well in all aspects, but he had ducked her gentle promptings and it was too early to probe more deeply.

It was great to have everything out in the open, but everything felt new—delicate. Like too much pressure would send everything shattering down like broken glass.

She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life.

Clark. Clark ordered Chinese food in fluent Mandarin—which was fine, since she had seen him in China along with who knew how many other countries, and she had never seen him hit a language barrier.

He'd seen the world. Flown the world. And who knew what he knew beyond that?

So Kal-El was Clark. But how much of Clark was Kal-El? How did he find out who he was, what he could do? He said he got a message from his father--his biological one, not Jonathan—but how? How much farther advanced was Clark's knowledge than the rest of the world put together?

And yet here he was, in a suit looking still slightly too large for him despite the weight he'd gained back over the past couple weeks. His glasses made him look strangely vulnerable.

How in the world was she supposed to treat him?

Clark was watching her, and she met his gaze. He pulled back his hand from hers, clasping his hands together on the table before him. He took a slow breath.

"I . . . I didn't want this to change anything, Lois."

That was funny. Change what? How she treated Superman, Kal-El, or Clark? Because now that they were one in her mind she knew she loved him, but darn if she knew how to talk to him. And did he care if she treated him different here, or in private? It wasn't like she could spit out all her questions here.

Wonderful. For once in her life she was completely without a thing to say.

"Me neither," Lois replied. She met his eyes. Maybe the best way to get over the awkwardness was just to ignore it completely. Fortunately, their food arrived right then, and further such talk was put aside as they ate.

--

Dinner was marvelous, which Lois was grateful for. It gave her something to talk about, and gave her a good reason for the silence as they ate.

Yes, she _did _want to talk, but she wasn't going to push him. Not yet, anyway.

The plate was too big to finish after her double-lunch, so Lois put the rest in a takeout and they walked out to her jeep. Clark took his place in the passenger seat, picking up the folders they'd found in the office earlier and paging through them slowly.

"There's got to be something in there," Lois said, buckling her seatbelt and putting the keys in the ignition. This was very safe ground. She could talk about the case as normal as ever—after all, she'd never been on a case with Superman or Kal-El. It was on personal things that the ground was not so clear. She paused, turning on the cab light for Clark to see better, and only belatedly realizing that he probably didn't need that at all. Oh, well.

"Jimmy can probably find something," Clark said. "We'll give it to him in the morning." He pulled up a few papers, flipping through them with his thumb. Lois wondered if he was really scanning, or if he was actually reading each page . . .

Lois suddenly reached over and snatched a page from his hand. She stared at it for a second, then swore.

"What is it?" Clark asked.

Lois's voice was victorious: "I knew it I knew it I knew it!" she said. She turned and shook the paper in Clark's face. "Do you know what that is? Look at this!"

Clark reached out, stilling the flapping paper and frowning at the short message typed coldly on the page.

_Operation breeched. Continue at new location._

And beneath that was an address.

"This could be after we found their first lab," Clark said slowly. "Should we check it out?"

Lois was shaking her head emphatically. "_Clark_, don't you recognize the address?" she said intensely, shaking the paper again.

Clark stared at her blankly, feeling more like the junior partner once again. "Uh . . . no?"

"It's the _warehouse_," Lois said, slapping the paper down on the dashboard. "I could never forget that address. Not after . . . ."

"You mean—"

"Either they had planned for . . . what happened"—Lois shot him a look—"to happen someplace else and they had a change of plans, or like you said—they moved their experiments _there_. Either way, we need to check this out."

She stopped, suddenly biting her lip and looking at Clark worriedly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. Just . . . tell me if I keep doing that, all right? Were you going to say something else?"

Clark looked bemused at first, but by the end his expression was torn between amused and reassurance. "No! No, Lois, it's quite all right. I . . . I kind of like it. Really. You said everything that I was thinking, really."

Lois was incredulous. The man _liked_ getting pushed around and run over? Of course, she shouldn't be surprised at this point—not with how completely thoughtless he was of anything to do with his well-doing.

_Masochist._

Some kind of penance, perhaps? She wouldn't put it past him.

The man was completely illogical.

Lois collapsed back in her chair and glowered at him. "Still," she muttered. "You shouldn't let everyone walk over you, Clark."

"You're not just anyone, Lois."

A hint of a smile pulled at her lip. "You've got that right, Flyboy," she said. "I guess you can let me walk over you, when you want."

"I trust you," Clark said simply. And it was that simplicity that really brought the statement home.

He really did trust her. It was almost frightening to think that she had that responsibility—that he trusted her so _wholeheartedly_, even after everything she'd done to him.

It hit Lois like a full-fledged hammer, knocking her heart right into her throat. She swallowed with difficulty, and inhaled a long breath. How come that scared her so much, made her guilt rise up with double force, yet somehow she didn't think she'd ever heard anything so wonderful?

They pulled out of the dark parking lot, and Lois angled through traffic towards Hob's Bay and the warehouse where this all began.

"Okay," she said, adjusting her grip on the wheel and letting out a long breath. "How do we want to do this?"

Clark blinked at her. "I guess . . . like we always do."

"So we walk into the trap that's sure to be there, almost get killed, and then get saved at the last moment by Superman. Great plan."

Clark paused, and Lois wondered if her sarcasm had been a little much. But then he looked at her and gave a crooked grin. "Well, if it's worked in the past . . . ." he began.

"Don't start," Lois said, though she couldn't help the smile on her face from his return.

"I-I didn't. _You_ did, Lois," he pointed out mildly.

Lois scowled at him. He flashed a grin, then quickly struggled to pull it down, and instead ended up smiling at her hesitatingly.

Still not perfect, but it was a start.

"Okay, but seriously, now," she said. "Where to begin? Could you just . . . you know . . . do the eye thingy from the outside and see what you find?"

"The 'eye-thingy'?" Clark repeated, a bit amused, but then admitted, a bit self-consciously, "The—the walls are lead-coated."

Lois had to stop herself from staring at him for the millionth time.

"Figures," she muttered.

"Sor—"

Lois shot him a glare, and he stopped, realizing what he was doing. "Oh. Sor—I-I mean . . . ." he stuttered off.

Lois could help but quirk a smile at that. "Don't worry about it. We'll break you of that habit soon enough." She reached over and patted him on the knee.

Superman's knee. In her car.

Along with the rest of him, of course.

Talk about surreal.

The streets grew darker and quieter, and grey. Lois pulled up to the curb a good block away from the warehouse and turned off the car. The lack of their headlights turned the road black for a few moments until her eyes adjusted, and then the road looked washed out and pale in the smog-dusted moonlight. In the closeness of the car Lois suddenly wondered if this is what it sounded like in a grave.

_As long as you're keeping a positive outlook on things,_ she told herself dryly.

"Hear anything?" she asked Clark. He had gone quite still, tilting his head as if listening to something far away. And he was, wasn't he? She didn't know exactly how well he could hear, but if it was anything like she had imagined in the past . . . .

Heavens, how did he ever sleep at night?

Clark shook his head slowly. "Not nearby. A couple drunks on the other side of the block, some rats, a cat . . . . "

"Now you're just showing off." And it was working. She couldn't help but stare at him.

Clark ducked his head, but instead of apologizing he just smiled and shrugged. "Ready?"

So that was it. He'd just been trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. She certainly wasn't ungrateful—her hands were clammy and her mouth dry. Could he hear her heart thudding away in fear? And what about smell?

Now that was a weird thought.

But there he was, trying to lift her spirits when he was probably just as afraid and uncomfortable about this as she was, or likely more.

She was starting to sense a theme here.

But she wasn't going to think about the white room now, and how _Clark _had tried so hard to make her laugh, while he was bleeding out scarlet all over the white nothingness . . . .

No, they were going to get in, get out, and be gone before anyone could even think about trying anything, if that was vague enough.

Lois nodded. She reached down, her fingers searching over long-lost pencils, lint, and dirt to find two flashlights from under the driver's seat. She handed one to Clark and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open. "Let's go."

The streets had dried during the day, leaving only snakes of sluggish slime glistening in the garbage-cluttered gutters along the street. The sky was cloudless—an odd grey under the still-bright city lights, like a distant echo of life long from this colorless street. The only direct light came from a weakly flickering yellowed streetlamp farther down the block.

They padded across the street, with Lois only glancing back to make sure Clark was following her. She'd never noticed how soft his footsteps were. Or was he cheating? She resisted the urge to check and see if his feet were touching the ground at all.

She couldn't hear anything as they approached the building, and Clark didn't raise any alarm, so she didn't hesitate as she pushed open the door, which was still unlocked since her last visit.

Did that mean no one had been back? Or did they wanted her to think that?

Lois stepped inside, her flashlight beam seeming to weaken under the darkness of the room. Clark stepped in behind her and reached for the lightswitch as the door closed softly behind him. He flicked it, but nothing happened.

"I'd bet Luthor stopped paying electricity bills for this place weeks ago," Lois said, shining around the room to make sure she didn't miss anything from the last time, but nothing had changed except for soft swirl of dust that skittered in the beam of the flashlights. "The lights weren't working last time I was here, either."

Clark was silent. He stepped forward, glancing at the bare wall where Miss Glutwich's desk had been settled. Did he feel as displaced as she did, as apart from this surreal, grey world as she felt?

"Last time?" Clark repeated at last.

Lois shrugged. "Y—Superman disappeared. I was trying to find out where he went."

He glanced at her. "There aren't any cameras or recording devices in here. I would have heard them," he said softly.

"Just being safe."

"You shouldn't have come, then."

"If you mean this time, eat my lucky stiletto," she said, then paused. "In fact, if you mean when I came alone, you can eat it anyways. What else did you expect me to do?"

Clark looked at her again, then shrugged. "I--I guess . . . head straight into the mouth of danger and hope to strangle it on the way down?"

The man knew her too well. "Gets them every time," Lois nodded.

They made their way down the hall, peeking into room after room in search of something that Lois might have missed in her first pass.

Finally, they got to the Room.

The door was gone—the last of the smallest splinter gone from where it had been smashed through, and the air was stuffy and dusty—it didn't seem like anyone'd been there for weeks. The wall that had been cracked by Su—_Clark's_ arrival had been plastered over, and even the slightest smear of blood was gone as if it had never been there.

Lois's shiver was interrupted by a sneeze. The dust was awful.

Clark was walking around slowly, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, which he lowered now and again to peer at the ground.

He paused, looking down, and stooped into a crouch to pick something up. It was small, and he looked at it closely.

"What is it?" Lois asked, hopeful.

Clark stood. "Cat hair," he said.

"What?" She reached out, taking his wrist to level the hair with her eyes, but Clark suddenly tensed. She let go quickly, afraid that she'd startled him into bad memories, but he wasn't looking at her. He stared at the blank wall beside them, his head tilted as if he was listening to something.

"We should go," he said.

He sounded like Superman. How hadn't she noticed it before? Or maybe it was just the serious, what-I-am-saying-may-save-your-life tone.

"Someone's here?"

"More than one," Clark returned, with a flash of a weak smile, sounding more like himself . . . however that was.

He was doing his best to keep up his strong face. So was Lois.

She grabbed his hand, not caring if he felt her shaking.

"We'll be fine," she said, with a confidence that she forced herself to fear despite the memories of this place. "What way should we go?"

Clark glanced at her, then suddenly put shifted lifted her into his arms.

Lois had to bite her tongue to keep from screeching in surprise. Her arms went around his neck automatically. "Up, up, and—"

"No!" Lois said sharply, slipping out of his arms before he could lift off the ground. _Clark Kent_, lift off the ground? Why did she suddenly not know whether to laugh at that or go mad with fear? They were cornered again. "Why do you even think they're here, Clark? We probably triggered an alarm on the way in, or something, and if they saw us come in . . . " She lifted her eyebrows, not wanting to finish in case they _were_ bugged. _If they saw us come in, they have to see us come back out._

_She wasn't going to risk Clark, and if Luthor got even a hint that he was Superman . . . _.

"The electricity's dead. I didn't hear—"

"All right, then, but someone could have been watching. Some bum on the street, or somebody driving by, or anybody. You might be able to hear them, but you can't read their minds." She paused, giving him a look. "Um. You _can't,_ right?"

"What?" Clark gave her a startled look. "No, of course not."

"Just checking. Is there another way out?"

Clark lowered his glasses again, staring through the walls, but then stilled. He took her arm, her grip strong yet gentle.

"Come on." He pulled her into the hallway, but instead of moving left or right he stopped, letting her go and running his hands along the wall.

"Uh, Clark, what—?"

His fingers found what he was looking for. His fingernails slipped into the steel crack and he pulled. The wall slid open, and their shaking flashlight beams landed on steeply descending stairs.

"Well, this is original," Lois said. "Let's go down the creepy staircases to Frankenstein's lab, shall we?"

She stepped down, and Clark followed, pulling the panel shut behind them. Pitch blackness, even darker than the halls above, fell over them like a shroud.

"What if they know about this place?" Lois whispered.

"Hopefully there's another way out." Clark turned from the door, shining his light down to the bottom of the stair a floor below. He choked suddenly, bringing a hand up to his nose. "Oh, no."

"What is—?" But then, halfway down the stairway Lois smelled it too. Death, and the fetid reek of decay in a closed space. It came from below, blessedly distant, for now, but Clark sounded as if he were holding his breath to keep from gagging.

He probably could afford it.

She guessed that answered her question about his sensitivity of smell.

They headed down together, the increasing stench making her stomach twist as she focused on breathing through her mouth. They reached the floor and shone their lights in together.

"Cats," Lois breathed, but the relief not to find a human holocaust was quickly swallowed up as bile rose in her throat. There was a cage just a few feet before her, what was left of a cat sprawled on the bottom of the glass holding. The stench was near unbearable.

Clark stepped forward, his back stiff. With anger? Yes, finding a bunch of dead animals that'd been experimented on and then left to starve _would_ anger Clark Kent.

Before she might have found it petty or sentimental compared to the enormity of what they faced here. But not any more.

"Most of them died before they were left," he said, his voice cold—too cold to be Clark's, and cold even for Superman's. "I can smell it on them." He found a garbage bin and dumped it out, crouching down to sort through the clutter of papers and . . . needles?

Lois crouched down beside him, clamping down. Lois Maddog Lane was needed now. She sorted through the papers. "Different trials," she said. There was no need to read the scribbled "FAILURE"s at the top of each page. "This is Logram's work."

Clark suddenly dropped one of the vials and jerked his hand back as if burned. He hissed softly.

The sight froze Lois's heart still. "What is it?" she demanded.

"Kryptonite," Clark said, staring at the duly glowing green residue on his fingers. "Why was he giving them kryptonite?"

Lois swore, grabbing a wad of tissues from her purse and attacking his hand and rubbing the poison off him. A small smear of a red burn was all that was left behind, but her anger rose like fire nonetheless.

"Don't touch anything!" she said. "We need to get you out of here." She'd sworn she wouldn't let him get hurt again.

"There's not much of it," Clark said, though he was pale in the darkness. "I think it's diluted." He stopped, straightening slowly. Lois stood as well, tossing the kryptonite-smudged tissues in the pile of garbage.

"We should get some samples, see what he was giving to them," she said. "That is, _I _should."

Clark had walked around the cold-metal counters, his eyes still hard as he walked past the back row of cages. He bent down, and there was the sound of something opening—a fridge? "No need."

Lois came around, and grimaced as the sickly-sweet stench of rotting foot mingled with the stink of death. Clark pulled out a thin metal canister, his expression grim.

"What is it?"

"Lead." He started to unscrew the top.

Lois hurried forward. "What are you doing?" There was probably kryptonite in there, and—

Clark pulled off the top and went still. The cloying scent of fresh copper wafted through the air.

Blood. But something was wrong with it, and it took a second for Lois to pinpoint it as she stepped forward, her flashlight beaming unsteadily into the scarlet mix.

The electricity'd been out for weeks. It should be coagulated, clotted—rotting, like everything else in here. But as Clark turned away, putting the top back on with careful hands, she knew.

"Oh no," she gasped. "That—that's . . . ." Blood. _His_ blood.

Clark glanced at her, his eyes dark. "This isn't enough. They probably used the rest, or Luthor's keeping it somewhere else."

Lois knew that already. That was maybe enough to fill one syringe, and she'd seen them take far more than that.

Scarlet oceans full, it seemed.

She was going to be sick.

Clark stepped forward, putting the lead vial in his pocket. He swallowed before he spoke. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes dark and clear in the shadows of his pale face.

Lois kicked herself. She shouldn't be causing him any reason to worry. Heavens, she didn't know how he wasn't running screaming right now, away from this torture-chamber of nightmares, never to look back. She knew the only thing keeping her from bolting was her pride.

Her pride? No, she'd lost that long ago. It was him that kept her there. "L-l-let's get what we need and get out of here."

Clark glanced towards the stairs. Lois couldn't hear anything, but she wondered if he was listening to whoever had interrupted them.

"Hopefully not all of Luthor's goons know about this place," Lois said.

But Clark kept frowning, and slowly stepped around her, padding down the wall of stinking cages. Lois didn't bother stepping any closer. She could see (and smell) well enough from here.

Just what she needed. More nightmares.

But Clark stopped at one of the cages, reaching out to test the door. It was locked, but a tug solved that problem and the door eased open.

"This one's still alive," he said, reaching in and lifting it up with a gentleness that didn't seem possible. Lois thought she heard a soft mew as he stepped forward slowly.

"Come on. He needs help, and I know a good vet just a short fl—drive away."

"But what about—"

"Never mind," Clark said. "He doesn't have much time. And Luthor wouldn't have left anything here if any of it could have been brought back to him." His voice was firm, unyielding, confident. Superman. He was in his essence again, just like when he was helping little Julia from the tree.

Curse the man. They were this close to tagging Luthor and a half-dead cat was the thing that made him throw everything into the air, just to save that one, miserable, worthless life.

It was ridiculous. Typical. Unreal. Unbelievable. Awe-inspiring, even.

That was what he did, after all. That was who he was.

Was there no end to the wonders of Clark Kent?

(What a weird thought. She'd feel much more comfortable thinking of Kal-El that way, or Superman, of course . . . . )

Clark always had been a sentimental fool. She should have known all along that he and Kal-El were one and the same.

She shook her head.

And curse him again for very likely being right. Any evidence of Luthor's involvement was already long gone.

Still, she stalked to the nearest filing drawers, ignoring the computer and its shattered screen. She grabbed an armful of folders there and turned around, she with her burden and Clark with his.

"All right, cat-man," she said. "Let's get out of here."

Clark looked up. "There's still here, but they're watching the front, by the sound of it. They're . . . they're calling Luthor."

"What are they saying?" Lois demanded, then shook her head. That wasn't important. "Never mind. What's important is that they don't know we know they're there," she said, feeling a rush of smugness. Luthor might have been a step ahead of them all this time, but they were gaining, and with Super-Clark-El on their side nothing could stop them from keeping a half a step closer than Luthor thought they were. "Is there a way out the back?"

"I heard some come in that way, so . . . I think so." Clark started to the stairs, his steps quick but carefully aware of the limp, tiny burden curled gently against his chest. "There's a couple people back there, but I can't tell if they're Luthor's or just. . . ."

"Typical Metropolis trash. Got it. Well, it's either that or wait until Luthor tells them where this place is."

Clark grimaced, still staring upwards as if trying to see through the lead walls and ceiling with force of will. "Too late. We need to go." He headed towards the stairs.

She wished she hadn't taken so many folders, so she could reach over and touch his shoulder without dropping her carefully-balanced flashlight from the top of the stack.

She wasn't going to waste the energy figuring out if that was for her own comfort or his. Again, it wasn't like it mattered.

Clark reached the top of the stairs and hesitated before reaching forward with his free arm and sliding the wall aside.

He stepped out, holding it open for her as she followed, and let it slide shut, leaving hardly a seam behind. But enough for him to see, even in the darkness, apparently.

He paused, shutting his eyes for a short moment and breathing out the rest of an impossibly long breath. Lois understood. Even with that stench locked back behind metal doors, it was still sharp and pungent in her memory.

Had he been holding his breath that whole time—even while he'd been speaking?

Well, if anyone could, it was him.

They started forward together, with Lois more conscious than ever of her loud steps in their haste. They echoed down the bare hallway, and she felt awkward with her burden of papers. She hoped it didn't come down to a chase or a fight.

She couldn't hear anything else, though, and while Clark seemed as alert as ever, his Superman mask was on, although pale. And though it irritated her, now was not the time for her to lecture him on it, though it might be a good distraction.

She was shivering bad enough, after all.

They all needed their masks, sometimes.

They headed together left, following what they guessed was the outside wall, and at last their search proved fruitful when they passed a locked solid door, grey-painted and firm. Lois swore mentally, trying to figure out how to balance the papers, the light, and still reach her picklock in her pocket, when Clark just stuck his thumb into the lock and popped it clean through.

Okay, that worked too.

She stepped around him into the cool night air.

_BAM! BAM!_

Clark grabbed her, pushing her around the open door. Her flashlight spun from her stack along with a flurry of papers. She heard a bullet ping off the door, and the second hit something odd.

"CLARK!" She scrambled up, trying to reach him, but he was already behind the door with her, and then running, pushing her before him.

Someone swore loudly behind them, and but they had bolted into a side alley, and Clark wasn't slowing on where to turn, and she knew why.

He could see now—he could see through these buildings, and knew where they were going. And he was getting them out of there.

There were no more gunshots--no more sounds, except for Lois's heart, which she was sure was trying to pump right out of her chest from the sprint.

Finally Clark pulled her into a narrow alley and let her go, and she stumbled aside, another handful of papers slipping from the few she had been able to keep a hold of. She couldn't seem to care enough to pick them up at the moment.

Clark might have been helping her along, but she'd still been running, and she didn't think she'd ever run so fast.

She coughed, gagging on her own breath.

He stood up, looking at the wall—no, through the wall. The cat was still nestled against his chest, and as he shifted it carefully she noticed an odd hole in his suit, just beneath his shoulder . . . .

"Clark! You were shot—!" Lois gasped.

Clark's eyebrows rose and he gave her a _look_. Lois immediately stopped, her eyes narrowing.

Still . . . .

"Are you okay?" she demanded, still short of breath, and feeling a bit jealous of his completely unwinded and calm self, standing there like they hadn't just run half a mile faster than the fastest Olimpic runner.

On the other hand, that was great. It hadn't been so long ago that he hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom without using up all the energy he had.

Clark's eyebrows lifted higher. "Um . . . maybe you missed the part of the conversation, Lois, but—"

"I _know_ who you are, Clark. But I know better than anyone else that that really doesn't matter," Lois snapped, the sudden rush of panic at the sight of the holes giving way to angry concern. "Now, _are you all right?"_

"Yes, Lois," Clark said softly. He paused, then lifted his hand and opened it, letting two bullets fall to the ground with two soft _clinks_. "I've been catching bullets since my dad got me a .22 for my twelfth birthday. I'm fine."

"_Twelve?_" Lois stared at him. "Are you insane?" But she couldn't help her own curiosity. "What did you do?"

Clark shrugged. "We should go. They aren't following us any more."

"My car—"

"—Can wait. We can get it in the morning."

He interrupted her. Again. Good for him.

They started walking again.

"You still haven't gotten off the hook about your explanation," Lois said.

"What?"

"Twelve?" she prompted.

"Oh, that," Clark said, but didn't answer immediately as he reached up to lower his glasses, glancing back the way he came. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he slipped his glasses back up and continued forward. "I was shooting with a friend of mine. We were just being stupid when one of his shots ricocheted off a rock back towards him. Didn't even think before knocking him aside, but it hit my shoulder. Hardly left a bruise, even if it did scare me to death. After that, though, I had some fun shooting my gun and seeing if I could catch the bullet before it hit the target."

Lois was staring at him, her jaw slightly slack. "What did your mom say to _that_?" Somehow she couldn't see Martha being supportive of Clark essentially _shooting _himself, no matter how invulnerable he seemed. What if something had gone wrong, just one of those times?

"Uh . . . well, actually . . . she didn't—doesn't—really know."

Lois stared at him for a moment without speaking. "You are _so_ strange."

From anyone else, it might have hurt. Hearing it from Lois, however, just made him smile as he settled the skin-and-bones cat under his coat, running a large hand gently down its sharply-ridged back. It purred weakly, nuzzling his hand.

_It made him smile because she knew he was strange. She knew he was different. But it didn't matter to her._

"They're far enough away. Do you mind if . . . ." He trailed off, looking at her expectedly.

"Mind what?"

"Well, uh, you know, if we . . . ." He made a swooping motion with his hand. "It'll get us to the vet faster."

Oh. He meant fly. Fly with Clark Kent.

It was insane. Strange. Completely crazy, wonderful, and exciting enough that she would beg, if it was necessary.

Thank goodness it was not.

"Sure! I mean, of course that's fine." She wasn't nervous, or overly excited, and her heart wasn't beating out of her chest like a lovesick girl.

_Puh-lease. Get a grip on yourself. You were quivering in your shoes just seconds ago. You have evidence, work to do, and more nightmares to face. This is business. Mad Dog Lane business._

Shut up, she told herself.

She was going flying with Clark Kent.

TBC . . .


End file.
